


Pink Expectations

by bracari



Series: Not so Dickensian [2]
Category: Dickensian (TV), Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, It's happier guys!, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracari/pseuds/bracari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meet Arthur, black sheep and general disappointment of the Havisham family. His father doesn't care, Amelia is patronizingly kind, and the less it is said about what he thinks about himself the less depressed he'll feel.<br/>Enter Meriwether, who is so far out of his league Arthur thinks this might be all a big joke at his expense. But he stays.</p><p>(Featuring incredible business woman to be Amelia and fiction writer Honoria. And Pocket, of course.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a pink fuzzy drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur meets Meriwether at a gay bar.

Arthur was feeling quite giddy as the music blared and the bass rumbled under his feet. He should be bothered, so unlike his routine and habits this was. So unlike midnight impromptu parties on dorms, a single laptop serving as DJ with noise as loud as they dared, pretty focused on not landing on the headmaster's office. So unlike sneaking out for a smoke or defying Pocket by lighting up a joint in bed. No, this was amazing. His true first night out and he'd make the most of it. Even if he had been dragged along with his cousin. Or, well, even if he had only been able to get in because of his cousin.

Now that he thought about it, he had not seen him for a while. He hoped he hadn't been fooled into buying a drink to every guy in vicinity. Mostly because that left Arthur out of any gain. Pocket could definitely afford it, but he'd never hear the last of it. Arthur could even hint it to Amelia but she'd probably think it vouched for his good character, generous spirit and all that.

The smoke was somewhat smothering, but the open spaces overrun with dancing couples and on-lookers hoping for a partner made it not very noticeable. Arthur was just looking for now. He did not think he'd work up the courage to actually dance, even if he had convinced his cousin of that. To think of seducing a stranger out in the open, instead of fumbling in the bathroom and trying not to make too much noise, or to go to a backroom in the club and snog the closest man made him have palpitations. A couple of drinks in him and maybe he'd reconsider.

"Good evening." said someone.

Arthur eyed the shadow on the other side of the bar. A tall man exhibiting a splendid jawline, even noticeable under the twitching lights. Striking blue eyes crinkling with amusement and a body leaning against the counter. This showed promise.

"Evening." he replied.

The stranger smiled and turned back to his drink. "I don't think I've ever seen you here before."

"Never been here."

"So it's your first time."

"In this bar." Arthur stressed, realizing he had been too quick to do so a second too late.

The stranger grinned. "Let me buy you a drink." he said, calling the barman and lifting two fingers.

"You don't...ah..." Arthur stuttered, noticing the other man had sat on the stool to his left. Well, he had not predicted that. That someone would be interested in the one night he actually went out, it honestly made him blush already. He hoped it wasn't too noticeable, but the way his heart started to beat faster indicated otherwise. The drinks arrived and the barman gave them imediate privacy. He and the stranger were so close he could smell his own cologne and wonder if it was the other man's. The drink was an alarming shade of pink. Nursing it, he realized the stranger had gone quiet. He cleared his throat.

"You come here so often you actually know the local clientelle?"

"Often enough that I know it is quite small. And most prefer to come with a friend or boyfriend to dance."

Arthur looked at the stranger. "So I stood out just by standing by the bar alone."

"You stood out because you were looking rather lovely back here."

Arthur flushed and tried to hide it in the glass, which was ridiculous seeing as the thing was tiny and already downed.

"Let me buy you another." the stranger continued, leaning against the counter again and further becoming closer. The barman tuned and prepared the drink from the other side of the bar. Arthur did not protest and gladly accepted the glass.

"Don't you drink one too?"

"I can't. I'm driving." It occured to tell the stranger he may need to drive too, but the implication that only one would be driving set in and he was really glad for the drink then.

"Don't try to get me drunk. This is the last one I'll be having."

The stranger nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"I'm feeling half-guilty for buying them. You look a bit too young to be here, truthfully."

Arthur made a twisted smile. "Genes, I'm afraid. Can't do anything about it."

"Why would you want to when you look like that?" Arthur did not know whether to feel embarassed and hide in the bathroom or to snog the other man right there. Truth was, it was unusual for him to get so much attention, be it at school from his classmates or at home from his family. He also did not know what to reply so he diverted.

"Many gorgeous men out here. Surely you'd want to dance or drink with them?"

"They're boring." the stranger dismissed, eyes still trained on Arthur. "What about a cigarette, though? Don't you want to go outside?"

"I can't. I'm here with someone." Arthur replied, much against his will because the other man's knees were touching his and he was feeling very weak. His hands felt sweaty and the grip on the glass was becoming loose. The smoke was starting to get to him. The drinks too. He had thought himself stronger than this.

"It's quick. I'm needing some fresh air and you'd be very kind to accompany me." the other man told him, voice low and yet noticeable underneath all the noise. His hand touched Arthur's jeans. Arthur nodded sluggishly, setting his drink back on the counter. The man paid. Getting up, he swayed slightly and felt mortified as the stranger set his hand on the small of Arthur's back. Mortified and a bit aroused at having those long fingers pressing against the fabric of his shirt. No-one really touched him apart from Pocket in his painfully friendly hugs and Amelia, but here was this stranger pressing all the right buttons.

He tried to look around as they crossed the dancefloor, stepping around the couples moving and pressing even closer as a result. The blaring music pulsed in his stomach, the lights blinding him with their intensity. The faceless men rubbed against each other, bodies in synch with the music. He saw too much of exposed chests everyone, and the smell of sweat and testosterone would be overwhelming if he did not go to an all-boy's school. There was still that touch in his back and Arthur was left feeling giddy again. Would something happen? The anticipation would surely kill him as he felt his head fuzzy and his stomach twist in knots. The stranger...and he was following a stranger out of a club. Why was he doing that? That was stupid. He should know better. He was a Havisham!

"Hey!" he shouted over the music, straining. It really had been quiet at the bar.

"Yes?" the stranger turned, stopping briefly in navigating the dancefloor. Around them, no one stopped dancing, easily accomodating the change in flux. Under the lights, the stranger's hair looked green, his skin pink and his eyes shone red. The colours all seemed to blend together in Arthur's brain though. He looked like a very attractive alien. Or a demon.

"I don't know your name."

The demon grinned. "My name is Meriwether."

Arthur laughed, incredulous "Merry...weather? What kind of name is that?"

"Mine." Meriwether replied, dragging Arthur by the arm as he broke in giggles. Somehow they didn't hit anyone. Somehow Arthur didn't even tell him his own name.

The fresh air that hit them as they reached outside was a blessing. No other word for it as Arthur inhaled a lungful of night, still giggling.

"Can I call you Merry?" he asked, leaning against the wall. The moon overhead looked slightly green.

"You may, though I prefer my full name."

"Ok, Merry Weather." Arthur said, not bothering to stiffle yet another set of giggles. "Alright, sorry. I'll stop. But it is an unusual name."

"I am an unusual man." Meriwether replied, taking a cigarette and lighter off his coat pocket and lighting it with a flick of his wrist.

"How very mysterious." Arthur replied. Now he was outside he felt his head a lot clearer, but now his stomach started to hurt. He willed himself up, not wanting to ruin the moment. Meriwether's skin was back to regular colours and the moon only gave him a bluish hue. "You're here with someone too?"

"Yes. I'm with you." he replied, letting out a puff of billowing smoke and passing him the cigarette. Arthur looked at it and how it seemed to double up on his fingers, shrugged and pressed his lips against it, struggling a bit on the first try. Which in retrospect wasn't very good nor smart as he immediately dropped the cigarette, belly churning and lungs aching. He crouched down and tried to breathe. "Ow." His stomach wound itself around a knot. This wasn't good. Where was his damned cousin when he needed him? He was always interfering with fun back at school, but god forbid if he actually was with him when he was needed!

"Are you alright?" Meriwether asked, crouching down and placing his hand on Arthur's forehead. Arthur shook his head. Well, this was embarassing. He'd only had two drinks and he wasn't a lightweight by far. What the hell had been in that glass? His head felt awfully fuzzy and better not to think of his stomach.

"I am guessing you usually don't go to bars at all."

Arthur nodded, somehow managing to feel a cold flush.

"Alright, I'll get you home." Meriwether said, picking Arthur up by the elbow.

"No no! My cousin, he's in there-" Arthur started, interrupted by the door hitting the door on the wall opposite.

"Cousin! Hello! You won't guess how many drinking games I've won today!"

Speaking of the devil.

"Let me guess: just the one?" he shouted back, swaying on the spot.

"Who-ooh! Just the one!" replied his red-faced cousin nearly tripping in trying to get to Arthur's side. Arthur gave him a thumbs up. The door closed again, softer this time. As Pocket reached his cousin, hands grabbing his shoulders, he noticed Meriwether. "Oh, I think I know you." he said, a silly smile on his lips.

"I think I'll take you two home." Meriwether informed. God, his voice was really deep and soft. Arthur smelled his jaw. So manly.

His stomach ached again. "Cousin, you need to take me home. It's past my bedtime."

"I hardly think that's the problem." Meriwether said "You two are in no fit state to drive. I'm not sure one of you can drive at all."

Arthur stuck out his tongue and had trouble sticking it back in. Giggling and feeling stomach cramps again, he proceeded "Shh. Pocket is only one year older than me. And he's in my year!"

"C'mon you two. I'll definitely take you home." he said, reaching for both their shoulders. Arthur's cousin must be definitely the heaviest of the three as when he rested his weight on Meriwether's side the man groaned audibly.

"I don't know who you are but I like you." Pocket declared, as serious as one could be whilst looking like an over-ripe tomato.

"Thank you...Pocket, isn't it? You'll have to tell me your address."

Pocket stared, uncompreending. Meriwether sighed. "Arthur?"

"OH! I know!" Arthur exclaimed, trying to walk faster than his feet allowed "Take us to Satis house!"

Pocket shouted suddenly and the three men wavered on the sidewalk. "But Amelia will be there! She can't see us like this. She'll tell your father!"

"MY FATHER!" Arthur barked a laugh "My father can shove it!"

Meriwether hummed by his side. "I take it he doesn't know you've come here."

Arthur twisted as another bout of pain coursed through his innards. "I really don't want him to. He's such a drag."

"Alright then, in you go."

Suddenly Arthur was shoved inside a car, head first into the back seat. His cousin followed, elbow shoved unconfortably into Arthur's ribs. He heard a noise from the front seat and the rumble of the engine. As the car started, Arthur remembered he had not given Meriwether the address and that wouldn't do. Sitting upright again and ending up with a lap full of Pocket, Arthur leaned back against the seat and tried to remember the exact address. He had just been there the previous month, when his sister asked their father to let Arthur come home for a weekend. What was it...Something in the West End, he was certain. They were rich so it had to be. Could it be in Mayfair? It must be. He opened his mouth just to tell Meriwether that when their eyes met in the rearview mirror. He found himself unable to to speak, or even think. The pain in his belly had diminished somewhat but tightened all the same when he noticed the other man's expression. It was breathtaking. He felt stripped down by it. Through the haze his mind was in, he found he needed to know this man's profession and full name. To understand why he had spoken to Arthur in that room full of handsome men, experienced men. He did not experience flattery very often, but that's what that gaze made him feel. It was addicting, and had he been in the condition to say something intelligent, he'd try to get his number.

He was shaken out of his musings by his cousin slapping him on the shoulder all of a sudden.

"Pocket! Stop that! What will Weather man think of our behaviour?" His cousin giggled into Arthur's neck, tickling his skin in the most wonderful way. He needed to get Pocket drunk another time. He was awfully affectionate, and Arthur was often so lonely.

"What I already think, that you two should not go to bars." came the reply from the front seat. The previous look was gone, replaced with amusement.

"Hey, I was doing just fine before you showed up!" Arthur complained "Actually, what was in those drinks? Those were stronger than anything I've ever tasted."

"I just asked the barman for what I usually have and it never had that kind of effect on me." Meriwether informed him. Arthur thought to ask him what him exactly the 'usual' was, but the sight of Satis House as they turned the corner refrained him from doing so. Here they were, safe and sound on account of a stranger! It would not do to question him so!

"Home sweet home!" Pocket helpfully declared. Arthur shook his head. He was feeling better already, whether for the ride, for the drink wearing off or the man driving them home he did not now.

"It's not your home, cousin."

"You'll let me crash, though?" Pocket asked, pouting in tentative seriousness but failing and laughing about it.

"Of course. Amelia would have my head otherwise."

"Your sister sounds terrifying." Meriwether said from the front, parking the car on the curb.

Pocket sighed, a dream-like intonation to his voice. "She's actually the sweetest girl to ever have existed. Ever ever."

Arthur snorted. "But she's so fierce."

"Aw, you love her." Pocket cooed, hugging Arthur and burying his head in his curls. Arthur huffed, patting his cousin's head. "If I didn't know you, I'd say you're wasted. But you're always like this."

Meriwether huffed from his side and Arthur realized he was holding the door, waiting for them to come out. How embarrassing. Pocket was basically cuddling with Arthur in front of a stranger. If he had hoped to get lucky, he could kiss those chances goodbye. Which, thinking about it now, it's a shame they didn't even get to kiss. As Meriwether held both of them, and it seemed like Arthur's balance was still off, he pondered if he'd give him his number anyway. As he opened his mouth to ask it, he was interrupted, as he had a tendency to be, by the opening of a door. His sister stood in the doorway, a heavy coat hanging from her shoulders. She looked worried.

"Amelia!" he exclaimed, too loudly if his companion's expressions were anything to go by. Meriwether opened the gate and they climbed the steps as a wobling unit again.

"Shhh...It's three in the morning! Don't bother the neighbours." Amelia said, voice low and cleary not amused. "What have you two done?"

"We went to a bar!" Pocket helpfully provided.

"I can smell it. Especially from you, cousin." Amelia sighed "Come inside you two, but first introduce me to your companion."

"My name is Meriwether Compeyson."

"And why are you with these two, Mr. Compeyson?" Amelia asked, gently dragging Pocket by the arm.

"Please, just Meriwether."

"Or weather man." Arthur interjected, laughing quietly. He hoped he was not overusing it, but Amelia needed to be introduced to the wonders of pun-making.

"Your brother thinks he's very funny." Meriwether said, still holding him. Arthur could smell him even better from this position. He really had to stop being so close and not do anything he might regret. A step, and his sister helped him too.

"I found them at the bar and thought they were in no fit state to drive home." Meriwether informed, making Amelia frown pointedly at Arthur as if it was his fault that Meriwether's 'usual' had a powerful kick and that Pocket was simply useless. "I'll give you the adress of the bar. Your cousin might have left his car there."

Arthur grimaced as Meriwether told her the address. They really had just left the car there, hadn't they? And now she'd go fetch it and she's find out what tytpe of bar it was and Arthur would be fucked. Panicking, he grabbed her back by the waist and dragged them inside. "Ah, sister. I am so sleepy, let's go."

Meriwether cleared his throat, and Arthur could not be rude and ignore him. Turning, he caught that same glint again before it dissolved into a warm smile. "I hope you feel better in the morning, Arthur."

Arthur returned a tentative smile. "I hope so too. Thanks." he said, turning inside nearly bent at the waist. His cousin had already sat down and fallen asleep on a chair in the vestibule. A bit of spit dribbled down the corner of his mouth. He was ridiculous.

"And Mr. Compeyson?" he heard Amelia call. "Thank you for delivering them safely home."

She closed the door and looked at what she certainly thought to be the idiotic side of the family. "You are lucky father isn't home."

"Hooray!" he exclaimed as sarcastically as he could taking into account he really was relieved.

"You two are going to drink water and then you'll sleep in your room." Amelia informed him, already ascending the stairs. He actually was lucky if Amelia wouldn't lecture him.

He punched his cousin slightly in the shoulder. And then harder. Then he slapped him. Pocket awoke, holding on to the chair as if it was the only thing keeping up from down. Then he blinked at Arthur "Is it morning yet?"

"No, you big oaf. It's time for you to drink some water and go to bed."

"Nice." he replied, getting up and following his cousin to the kitchen. As he waited for his glass to be filled, a momentary frown crossed his features. "Where is weather man?"

"He's gone."

"Pity." Pocket confessed, pouting. "I liked what he had to say about Liverpool." Arthur frowned. They had not spoken about football once. Maybe it was Pocket conducting imaginary conversations in his head again. That had happened before. At least Arthur knew for certain he had never talked to his cousin about being Honoria's doll when he had been just five. As close as they were, there were still boundaries.

He dragged his cousin upstairs and even with the immensity of the house, they were in record time under the sheets. He even remembered to remove their shoes. His cousin was still useless and mumbling nonsensically under his breath, something about weather man. He'd never live this down, he just knew it. His growing soberness told him as much. The door creaked not five minutes after Pocket fell asleep and Amelia entered his room.

"You know we're still doing to talk, don't you?"

Arthur groaned. "I had suspected as much."

"Alright. In the morning then. Good night."

Arthur's reply was muffled by the pillow and his own drowsiness. Minutes later he was asleep, all thoughts of Meriwether gone from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the pun. I had to have some fun at Meriwether's expense.


	2. a lightly patterned pink tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Amelia and Arthur have an honest conversation about bars and there is a surprise guest.

Amelia really tried not to laugh. She was a very composed young lady, as her father often put it. She liked not letting people know what she was thinking, letting them talk and then attack with her own words. But those people definitely did not include her hungover cousin.

"Good morning, Pocket." she called to dazed boy who currently tiptoed on her kitchen.

"Oh, hello cousin. I don't really remember arriving here yesterday." Pocket confessed "Sorry about that."

"You were brought here by a Mr. Compeyson." she replied, taking a sip of her tea and folding the newspaper. Her last name stuck out in bold black letters. It seemed her father had announced a new partnership the previous afternoon. She felt a bit bitter about not being notified as she was used to calls at half past midnight announcing the latest deal. But her father knew best. Maybe it hadn't been such a great event, and the media were just making a big fuss.

Her cousin scrunched up his nose. "I can't say I really remember him."

Amelia laughed. "No wonder! You couldn't even walk straight."

"Don't laugh at my expense, Amelia." Pocket complained "I was supposed to take care of Arthur but ended up having to be taken care of."

"He didn't seem drunk, but he looked a bit peaky." she informed him, biting into the toast. "I'm going to check up on him in five." Pocket nodded, opening the cupboard and trying to get a mug from the upper shelf, completely missing the one at his eye level. Amelia smiled into her own mug. "Anyway, what kind of club were you last night?"

Pocket startled, hitting his head on the cupboard door. "Ow." he complained, finally finding the other mug. "Ah...I really can't remember, cousin. Drunk and all that.". It was clear even to Amelia that that was a total lie. Pocket never lied.

"Alright. Have your breakfast then." she said, getting up. "I'm going to wake up Arthur."

The rest of the house was quiet. Only Mary, Arthur, Pocket, Honoria and herself were home. Since Satis House was a mansion, really oversized for London and the street it was in, it tended to feel grand rather than cosy. The white walls in the lower floor seemed to go on forever, filled with countless paintings and portraits of the Havisham past. They could trace their heritage back to the late nineteenth century, when the first Havisham entrepreneur opened up their brewery in Kent. A daring move, seeing as the dispute for the monopoly of beer that circulated in the capital had been ferocious. The Beerhouse Act of 1830 did not improve their terms, having damaging effects to all the great breweries, but Amelia's namesake, left to fend off for herself after the patriarch of the family died, managed to somehow upheave the brewery and turn it into a great company. She was featured in several paintings along the corridor that led to her bedroom, her father's and several other guest accommodations. Her favourite was the one she was dressed in white, despite the records never stating she had ever married. It was enigmatic for that reason. The puppy on her arms was also part of the reason she had been so fascinated with it when she was younger.

As she climbed the stairs to the second floor, she noticed not for the first time the bareness of the corridor. There were only closets and another bedroom beside her brother's, and no-one ever came there but him and the maids. She doubted her father had ever set foot on this floor willingly. A wooden frame on the ceiling indicated the place of the attic ladder, at the end of the corridor. Her brother's room was directly underneath it. Leaning against the door, Amelia strained for some sound or sign of life but heard only the slow rumble of the air conditioning. Pocket must have turned it on when he woke.

She opened the door slowly, but it was seldom used and creaked as she stepped inside. She needed to get someone to oil it. Looking at the rest of the room, maybe she could convince Arthur to tidy up a bit more. She honestly doubted he needed to have all those West End posters up on the wall. Or all those miniatures he'd buy, soldiers and dancers and harlequins piling on the floor by a shelf. The bed was shoved to the left side of the room, near the desk. Arthur had the habit of using it as somewhere to pile his papers, supplies, books and often food on, preferring to study in bed. Often enough she'd come here to check up on him and find him asleep under a big classic she doubted was for class. Right now he was in the same position, hand splayed on a bare stomach and mouth lined with drool. His curls were slightly matted and his skin looked sweaty, much like her cousin's had been. A wayward foot rested on the floor, pinkie showing under the rumpled jeans.

She sat on the chair by the desk, practically new for all the use it had been given, and called his name. Arthur stirred, slowly blinking his eyes open. He looked at her general direction and closed them again.

"I know you're awake, Arthur." she said, earning a groan.

"I know you do. Just trying to keep up the illusion for a while longer."

Amelia huffed. "It's nearly noon!"

"Hardly a time fitting for a gentleman like me to get up to." he mused, stretching.

"Indeed, a gentleman like you that goes to bars and gets drunk enough for a stranger to get him home!" she replied, making him pause mid-stretch, arms bent in strange position.

"Oh. You're right. That did happen."

"Our cousin happened too, by the way." Amelia said, earning a chuckle from her brother. He sat up, rolling his shoulders.

"Oh? How is he?"

"Currently nursing a tea and staring at the wall. I dread to think just how much he drank last night."

"It's his own fault. He got drunk without me!" her brother complained, pouting.

"And who did you get drunk with?"

"With the stranger that brought me home, apparently." he answered, frowning "He had a weird name...What was it?"

"Meriwether Compeyson." Amelia replied.

"Yes, that's it. An odd name for an odd chap."

Amelia bit her lip and braced for a rejection. "You know, Arthur, because he brought you here, it stands to reasoning the car was left there. I have the address but I'd like it if you told me its name."

Arthur tensed up, much like Pocket had. Interesting. His face started to appear flushed, which was even more interesting. She leaned forward. "I'm guessing it's not your average club. Now I'm really curious."

"Why?" demanded Arthur, using the tone he usually had when his wishes weren't being fulfilled.

"Pocket seemed reluctant to share anything about it too, which is strange because he's Pocket and he is unable to keep anything from anyone."

"He does tend to overshare." Arthur replied, a clear deflection. Amelia frowned. This called for drastic measures.

"Arthur, I am going to force your to clean your room if you don't tell me where you were last night."

Her brother snorted. "Um, Amelia. You can't force me to do anything. I am eighteen."

"Even if you were twenty-two you'd still be the brother I could boss around."

Arthur sighed. "If I were twenty-two you'd be twenty-six and probably running the brewery. I doubt you'd have the time to order me around."

"You'd still be my little brother. I'd make the time." she joked, moving to the bed "You are my little brother now. I know when you're hiding things. You hide things from me every day. This time, though...I think it's important or else Pocket wouldn't fret about it too."

Arthur flexed his legs while staring at the sheets, drawing into himself. He'd do the same when their father berated him for breaking things or forgetting to flush, when he had been little and his mother had been alive. Before their father started to ignore him. Afterwards, there was no reason because she sought never to make him feel like that, and diverted much of her brother's misgivings. As long as he had good grades, father wouldn't think badly of him. What did he care about sprained ankles and messy floors, nights out and skipping a class or two? Amelia did though, even if her brother didn't believe it.

"I am your sister, Arthur. Have I given you so much reason to distrust me?"

Arthur shook his head, suddenly seeming very meek. His hands curled on his lap, all bravado gone. He was clearly upset, but Amelia could not fathom why. He had gone out last night, spent time with their favourite cousin (as much as he'd never admit it), somehow arrived home unscathed thanks to a complete stranger, and did not seem to have a hangover. As far as she could tell, he had been very lucky and had had fun. She did not understand what was wrong.

Amelia rested her hand on top of Arthur's. Arthur eyed it, then Amelia's face. He looked terrified. "I am not going to tell father if you went to a strip club."

Arthur huffed a laugh. "It's not that. Not a strip club."

"Well, then I can't imagine what kind of establishment you went to that leaves you so anxious for a simple admission."

Her brother bit his lip. His hands were still twitching under hers, clammy with sweat. She could faintly feel his heartbeat, faster than the time she had told him a ghost story. It had been based on a accident that happened at the Yorkshire brewery in 1934, and terrifyingly fictionless. Arthur cleared his throat and opened his mouth. Closed it again with a flinch. He cleared his throat again, and looked so miserable Amelia had to refrain from hugging him.

"It's not simple, Amelia. It's not simple at all." he whispered, curling one hand into hers. "I am afraid of what you'll think of me. I am afraid of what you'll tell father. I am so afraid of what he'll do if he finds out. Not what he might do, but what I know he will do."

"He isn't that bad." Amelia contested. Arthur gave her a scathing look.

"Yes, of course. When you're Amelia Havisham, I am sure father Havisham is a very doting father." he spat. "When you're a prodigy and know how to do things his way, and know when to cede and when to fight back. When you know whether to obey or to speak your mind. How to act when he's in a good mood or when he's in a bad mood. How to react when he tries to control you. When you don't have to prepare an entire dialogue in your head if you're in the same building with him, just in case. When you don't have to try so fucking hard not to mess up you actually spend most of your energy looking and being presentable to him." Arthur's voice had gone softer, throat seeming to ache with the effort of speech. His eyes were painfully watery, on the verge of spilling. Amelia had never seen him grow so emotional in such a small amount of time. "When you can keep up his great expectations. When you're normal."

Amelia frowned. "Arthur, I admit he is harsher to you and that I have a privileged ranking in this family. I have tried to fight it every single day." Her brother sniffed, nodding slightly and still not looking at her. His lips trembled and it made her heart ache. "But I don't understand what this has to do with my question. And what do you mean by normal? Arthur, you're as normal as I am!"

Arthur's shoulders drooped and he breathed out a sigh. "That's why Pocket didn't tell you anything. I asked him to take me, just once. We'd go back to school that same night and none would be the wiser. Just one night where I could actually feel normal." His lips twisted as he spoke, and his hand squirmed on Amelia's. "No-one would know, and I'd be happy for once. I'd see people like me, out and free. Because we don't meet people like me. Not when we're rich and sheltered, whether in Satis House or in a boarding school."

"I still don't understand." she whispered.

Arthur let go of her hand. "Amelia, we went to a gay bar."

She went silent, completely at loss. Of all the things her brother could have said, that was definitely one she couldn't have predicted. Her brother went to a gay bar. Her brother thought he wasn't normal. Her little brother was gay. That was the secret, the reason for so much dread. Normal, out, free. Those had been the words her brother had chosen. He thought he conflicted with her version of normal. He thought she would spurn him, out him to her father. That she would detest him and stop being his sister. Pocket had kept it from her as well. Loyal Pocket, who never told a lie. Pocket who had been worried and watched her climb up the stairs to Arthur's room, who was probably outside the door, listening in and hoping for the best. Amelia grabbed her brother's hand back.

He had retreated again, face turned against the wall, eyes closed.

"Arthur, look at me."

He did so, eyes glistening. His hand was loose in hers. "Do you feel insulted by my preferences? Are you disgusted by what I get up to with boys like me on bathroom stalls at school, what I dream of every time I close my eyes?"

Amelia shook her head. "How could you think that when I've seen your grow by my side and hoped for your dreams to come true?" she asked "Whether you dream with boys or girls, I am more than alright with either."

Arthur stared, hand finally closing around hers without noticing. "You're saying...You don't mind? You don't actually mind?"

Amelia pondered that for a few moments. "Why would I mind?"

Arthur's bewilderment would be funny if he hadn't been crying as well. One hand clasped hers tightly, the other curled into a fist on his lap. He seemed to look at her anew and she could recognize relief in that look. It warmed her own heart as well. "Oh Arthur. You really think I'd scorn you? I love you."

He released her and buried his head in his hands. His shoulders shook and great sobs erupted from his chest, throaty and deep. He'd get a sore throat very soon, as he had to be dramatic as always. Silly Arthur. She tentatively rested her hand on his shoulders. Looking at her from underneath a greasy fringe, he rested his hand over hers. Amelia smiled. It would be alright. Of course it'd be alright. If only he acted his age stopped crying every crisis.

A knock on the door broke the moment and Arthur gathered himself, wiping at his eyes with the hem of his shirt. "C-Come in!" he stuttered, frowning when Pocket entered the room.

"Let me guess, you heard everything."

Pocket nodded, sitting on the chair previously occupied by Amelia. He had tears on his eyes too, the emotional fool. "All that talk of coming out and you playing out all those horrible scenarios and it turns out my guess was the closest."

Arthur snorted. "Well, yes, we all have to get it right someday."

Amelia looked between her boys. "You both worry too much." she stressed "Don't you know I'm bisexual?"

She really did appreciate Pocket dropping his jaw and Arthur raising his eyebrows so much they actually disappeared under his hair. It was nice to know she could still surprise them. As moments passed and neither said anything, she put them out of their misery. "You're not the only ones experimenting in dorms and bathrooms and whatsoever. I am surprised that Arthur is gay because he kept it hidden for so long, but I'm not actually shocked. You boys always forget girls can experiment too."

Pocket stammered. "You're...erm, you are absolutely right." he frowned "Wait, Honoria..."

"Is just a friend." she answered. It wasn't the first time she had been asked that and if the two had indeed done some...things. Well, it was no-one's business but their own.

Pocket seemed to visibly deflate and she got the idea he had thought they had been experimenting all over Satis House for the years Honoria had lived there. Which was rather absurd, seeing as they had two perfectly nice beds in their shared room. No need to be jumping all over the place. Needless to say, she didn't tell them that either. As yet another knock was heard, she was spared any other unnecessary prodding.

"Enter!" she called. It was Mary.

"A man at the door. He wants to see Mr. Havisham."

Amelia sighed. "Tell him my father isn't home."

"Oh, no. I meant Mr. Arthur."

Amelia looked at Arthur, who looked equally puzzled. She shrugged. Arthur wasn't supposed to be home this weekend, so who knew he was here? Mary hovered at the door.

"Tell him to wait in the Great Hall for Arthur. He'll be there in five minutes." Arthur whimpered "Alright, ten." Her brother did look like he had gone to a bar the previous night. Depending on the visit, it might not be a suitable attire.

Mary scampered off and Pocket took it as a cue to leave and probably spy the visitor, hopefully not as conspicuously as he had at breakfast. She got up to leave her brother to it as well, but he held her arm. She looked into his eyes, now dry and red. An unusual expression now graced his face, very much unlike the sarcastic twists and appeasing smiles. She liked it very much and dared to aprove it by kissing his damp forehead, unfazed by disgust.

"Get dressed. Wash your face. I am going to see who is it that dares interrupt this gentleman's rest."

Arthur giggled and Amelia saved the sound in her heart. She went downstairs to greet whomever found it suitable to call on Satis House on a Saturday at lunch time. She found Meriwether Compeyson.

"Hello, Miss Havisham." he greeted, slightly inclining his head.

"Mr. Compeyson!" she exclaimed, feeling slightly startled "Good afternoon, I wasn't expecting you."

"I am half-surprised myself." he mused, smile playing on his lips "The truth is, I had to convince myself to come here today."

Amelia frowned at the enigmatic words. The man seemed amiable enough and, now that she saw him in broad daylight, very handsome. He dressed elegantly, wearing a charcoal paletot over a matching suit jacket. His crisp white, classic shirt stuck out from under a lightly patterned pink tie. One hand held a dark leather briefcase and the other was stuck in his pocket. A pair of gloves peeked from the other pocket. He looked very smart and put-together, and not at all like he was doing a social call, which was the more likely reason. It suddenly struck her that this man must be gay too since he had brought Arthur and Pocket from the bar.

"I am here to visit Arthur, of course. To see how he's doing. He did not look so well when I dropped him off yesterday." he elaborated, clearly taking her silence as a demand for an explanation. "I dread to be a bother, but I was rather worried."

Amelia nodded with a small smile. "He'll be down soon. I trust you don't have any pressing business to attend to?" she asked, nodding towards the suitcase.

"Ah." he said "No, all my work is done for the day. No rest for the wicked, I am afraid."

She startled. "Oh, please, do sit down." she gestured towards a chair. She couldn't quite invite him to the living room because she suspected that's where Pocket was spying from, and Mary was currently tidying up the cabinets. She was left with being a mildly rude host. Compeyson did as he was told, resting his suitcase on his lap. He looked back at her and she noticed his eyes were blue and very, very intelligent. She could read people somewhat, dealing with investors and her father's partners. She could not trust her senses fully, though, as it had led her into serious mistakes and some rotten deals. Her father had taken it agreeably enough, giving her a lecture on trusting the facts rather than appearances. 'A pauper can look like a politician, if he is so inclined', he had told her once, and she held fast to that advice.

"What do you do, Mr. Compeyson, if you don't mind me asking?"

Mr. Compeyson smiled. "You can call me Meriwether. I am an insurance consultant that works with several companies."

Amelia frowned "You look very young for that."

"Genes." he replied with a twisted smile "It lends to several unfruitful job interviews."

Amelia smiled back. She could relate to that. As he opened his mouth to speak again, his eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

"Meriwether!" Arthur exclaimed, then retracted "Hum, sorry. I mean, Mr. Compeyson."

Compeyson rose, briefcase sliding to the floor. He looked enchanted. "Please, call me Meriwether."

"Yes." her brother replied, very smartly.

Amelia looked between them and felt as though she would soon become a third wheel, so she excused herself and went to the living room. As suspected, not only Pocket was entertaining himself by taking a peek at the Great Hall, but even Mary seemed very interested in the conversation.

"I'd tell you off, but I am going to do the same." she whispered, looking through the tiny space left by the slightly open door. Her brother was terribly flushed and although she could could only see his back, she bet Mr. Compeyson was the perfect picture of cool. He seemed that, whatever that entailed.

"I was worried."

Arthur smiled. "No need, I really am doing fine. At any rate, better than Pocket." he said, hands definitely twisting behind his back. "Thank you for bringing me and my cousin home."

Meriwether chuckled. He still hadn't picked up his briefcase. "I couldn't leave you there."

"I must have seemed a mess." Arthur commented, biting his bottom lip.

"Nonsense, you looked lovely." Meriwether offered without skipping a beat. Amelia cheered inwardly. Arthur needed a confidence boost and this man seemed to be just the thing! Now, if they would just turn a bit so she could watch both expressions...

"I...I hardly think I looked decent with all that sweat and intoxication, much less lovely." he mumbled.

"Decent is overrated." Meriwether replied, taking a step forward. Mary and Amelia looked at each other, holding their breath. Pocket was utterly confused, if the pressing of his eyebrows was a good enough reference. They looked back at the scene unfolding in the Great Hall.

"I felt a great deal of regret when I arrived home last night, I have to admit."

"Oh?" Arthur breathed, cheeks flaming.

"We had to leave so early, and without having a proper conversation."

"I wasn't being particularly eloquent." Arthur replied, probably noticing he wasn't being eloquent now either.

"If you gave me a second chance you could show me otherwise, then." Meriwether proposed.

"Yes." Arthur agreed, breathless. Meriwether lifted his arm, a paper stuck between his fingers.

"My card. I have to go now, but you'll give me a call?"

Arthur took it, mindlessly nodding. Their fingers brushed. "I'll see you out." he said, trying to must as much of the Havisham assertiveness as he could, taking into account he had just been asked for a date. Amelia was so excited she could jump. Meriwether picked up the briefcase and let himself be lead to the door. After what she could imagine as being simple goodbyes, Arthur returned to the Great Hall and collapsed, boneless, on the sofa.

"Arthur, I'm so excited! You're going on a date!" she exclaimed, entering the Hall.

He buried his face in hands, cheeks flaming. "Oh."

"That's all you can say, 'oh'? He was doing a proper courting and you can only say 'oh'?" Amelia retorted, sitting down by his side. Pocket followed behind, quietly laughing.

"He's very awkward, Miss Havisham." Mary said, earning a glare from Arthur.

"How would you like to clean my room?"

Amelia huffed. "No-one is going to clean your room apart from yourself. No-one should go through that."

Arthur tried to glare again, but his grin got in the way. Trying to hide it on Amelia's shoulder was probably not the way to go about it, but she didn't mind. It had been very long since she saw her brother smile like that. She hoped it would last very long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nope, I definitely did not check out the wikipedia page for the Beerhouse Act of 1830. At all.  
> How are you finding Meriwether? I wonder how the date will go...


	3. a fluorescent pink marker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Honoria observes Arthur and Meriwether's first date.

 

The soft glow of autumnal afternoon light washed the tabletop, a cheap mock-up of wood littered with scrawls and indents of countless costumers that drifted in and out to get some nutrition and, above all, caffeine. The bustle of the café did not distract her, hands hovering over the keyboard and mind already racing. Having shut off her cellphone after a couple of messages from Amelia and turned off the wi-fi, she really had no way of procrastinating. A young boy on a table by the right amused himself with crossing out the eyes from magazines while his sister scribbled swear words with a fluorescent pink marker. An elderly couple shared a slice of pie, the woman concentrating in leafing through a novel and the man scowling at the siblings defiling the magazines. A man around her age sat in the more intimate part of the café, indicating that he was waiting for someone. Who would she write about?

Honoria sighed. Inspiration was so fleeting.

As the siblings got up and left, forgetting the magazines on the table and making the elderly man refocus on his wife, there really was no other option. Romantic date it was, as much as it was a pain to write anything romantic when James was in training and so far away. She sighed for the second time, definitely not amused and not remembering that she could choose another subject of her liking. Describing Mr. Stranger it was.

'The soft glow of autumnal...' she started. No, that was horribly stupid. Why would she start a story like that? It made no sense at all, though she really couldn't imagine one that would. It was a café story and that was as cliché as it got, though it warmed her to write in such a setting. She needed a bit of comfort after receiving a call from Frances earlier that day, demanding a share of her wages, which 'were supposed to have been deposited yesterday' as it had been pay day the week before. Sometimes it wore her down, having left her family to live with her best friend. She had let them down, yes. But it was her own life to live, even her father agreed, buried in debt as he was. She deserved to work and live on her own. To do what she wanted with her free time. To write on her afternoons off was a welcome respite.

Maybe she should practice her descriptions.

'A handsome, auburn-haired man sat...' She clicked her tongue. No, not man. Gentleman, and definitely reclined instead of just sat. The man was practically lounging and had the looks of a nineteenth century dandy. The way his hair was carefully styled indicated the romantic date, but the cut of his blazer's lapels told the tale of a _fashionista_ with a walk-in wardrobe in a tiny apartment in London. Most of the available room would be filled with rigorously organized shoes and accessories, as shown by the impeccable state of the Brogue Derbys glinting under dark denim jeans that tugged in all the right places and were purposefully deconstructed. The only thing amiss was really a fashionable cane, and he'd be the gent she'd read about in novels throughout her teenage years. It was interesting when reality and fiction collided. The watch was new too, but he didn't seem to use it as he frequently checked his phone. Two minutes into her observation, having written only five lines about his supposed apartment and damning her inability to focus on her original purpose, the man's phone rang.

Clenching his jaw as he read the caller id, he picket it up. "I told you not to call when I'm working." he paused, listening "No, Sally. I don't need your help. Yes, do that."

Just as quickly, he turned it off. Honoria frowned. Working? Was she wrong? But the lapels with no pocket square...

The man looked up as the door opened, the bell above ringing but slightly muffled by the surrounding noise. She glanced at that general direction and nearly choked. Arthur. What on Earth...Oh, he did have a date, didn't he? Amelia had said something about that...

Her best friend's brother sat down, nodding at the gentleman's greeting. "I trust you didn't have trouble finding this place? It's quite hidden."

The stranger shook his head. "Not at all. I admit to having passed this street many times before, but never stopping. That's London for you. Too many nooks and little time to explore them."

Honoria's position was was a privileged one. From her table, she could see and hear them perfectly but Arthur could not spot her thanks to a well-placed column that incongruously held a multitude of flowerpots. It was due to this almost strategic position that she found herself able to spot a very rare Arthur Havisham smile. A honest one, not the one he used to mock Amelia's fussing or Honoria's attempts to cook. It was somewhat unnerving, but it sparked her curiosity. She started typing.

"It's somewhere I like to go when I'm home for the weekend. It's usually quieter than Satis House." Arthur told the stranger, beckoning a nearby waiter. At his inquiry for a specific order, he asked for a latte. The stranger ordered an expresso. As the waiter scarped away to fill their orders, the stranger turned back to Arthur.

"I have to admit I was a bit nervous when I returned there the other day."

Arthur's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"Of course I noticed the house was big when I dropped you off, but I only connected the dots when I went back."

"Connected the dots? What do you mean?"

"Your family name." the stranger replied, laughing quietly "Had I known you were a Havisham I'd be far more terrified."

Arthur huffed. "So you know about my family."

"I hardly think there is a single person in London who doesn't drink a Havisham beer every week."

Arthur gave him a small smile. "But how did you know? I don't recall telling you my family name."

The stranger shrugged. "Just had to look at the big Trojan letters spelling SATIS HOUSE. That House is part of London almost as much as London Bridge itself."

"If only it served as a tourist site."

The gentleman chuckled. "If only. You'd make an even nicer profit. It is rather..."

"Cavernous?" Arthur completed.

The stranger hesitated. "I was going to say grand, but you'd know."

Their orders arrived and Honoria had in the meantime captured only half of their conversation. She did not know who she was writing this transcript for, but maybe Amelia would like to know what was happening with her brother. It wasn't exactly spying, but it wasn't innocent either. As their settled back with their drinks, she noticed how Arthur kept averting his eyes and how the stranger fixated so much on his date. It was a bit unnerving, but he had only broken his gaze once, to grab his drink.

"I'd guess you're doing your A-levels." he stated, taking a sip.

Arthur nodded. "Nothing _useful_ like my sister, though." he shrugged "I could never go through torture with Economics and Accounting. Mine are much more on the Humanities spectre of things. That's the way of seeing rank in my family. You can only be good if you understand numbers. I had to fight back, you see."

"Are your father and sister so logical as you make them to be?"

Arthur's mouth twisted in a wry grin. "My sister is a lot better than what I give her credit for, that I'll admit. My father...is just like you said. Doesn't care much about me, but the sentiment is mutual." 

The stranger huffed. "Well, that sounds terrible. And exhausting if you try to live up to expectations."

"It is!" Arthur exclaimed "I really can't help being rubbish at those kind of things."

"Well, I could never comprehend literature. I once picked up Dickens. And that's the summary of my relationship with the man and the work. I'm not even touching Austen."

Arthur laughed. "Well, you started with one of the worst. Something of the 20th century would make much more sense."

"Maybe i need to keep that in mind. Life gets quite dull after looking at numbers for so many hours."

Arthur inclined his head, pressing eyebrows together in concentration. "My sister told me you were in...Insurance? Is that right."

Meriwether nodded. "Countless clients demanding analysis of every problem their company has, re-engineering business models, doing all sort of boring paperwork. Very dull, as I said."

"I find myself yawning already." Arthur replied, though he was clearly absorbing every word said. He took a sip, seeming deep in thought. "I'd recomend Maurice by E.M. Forster."

"To fight boredom?" the stranger asked.

Arthur shook his head. "To know that even in the daily drudge of life there is beauty."

"Oh? That sounds interesting. What is the story about?"

"It's about a man, called Maurice of course, who finds himself in love with another man in Cambridge at the turn of the 20th century."

The stranger's lips quirked. "I'd imagine that must have had a tragic ending."

Arthur grinned. "For the first time ever, it didn't."

Honoria had stopped writing in order to better listen in to the conversation as both their voices had dropped almost to a whisper. Both of them seemed to be a trance and she had unwillingly been sucked into it. Arthur's eyes were borderline glittering. She wondered if he had ever spoken so plainly about these subjects before. When Amelia had broached her the previous Saturday with some 'very exciting news', she had a general idea they would be about Arthur as she had seen him leaving not twenty minutes after Honoria had arrived home from work. He had a slight skip to his step and an altogether pleased Pocket following behind, the pair created quite sight leaving Satis House. They probably had returned to school, but something mumbled about a car being left behind led her into thinking they would visit Pocket's parents before. When she finally collapsed on her bed, Amelia had fallen by her side, giggling into her ear.

"Is this about Arthur?" she asked, slightly dazed and feet hurting from being up all morning behind the counter at the tailor's. 

"You have no idea what happened in the last twelve hours..." she started, interrupting every sentence with either a sigh or a laugh. It had been a lovely time. Honoria hadn't been shocked about Arthur's sexual orientation either. Even if there was no such thing as a _gaydar_ , she sort of had known all along. It was inconsequential, but not surprising. That the other man would be, that was indeed a surprise. 

And, now that she recalled, she had mentioned a name. A very odd name, but a name nonetheless that must be put to the face of the man that seemed very intent in courting Arthur, for a reason Honoria could not fathom. The expression Arthur currently had on his face, however, melted a bit of that stony resolve that seemed to manifest wherever Arthur was concerned. She had never seen him smile like _that_ , much like Amelia had said. This man...Merryweather? Yes, it was something with weather...But his last name was much more affirming...Compeyson! That was it! She typed it on the computer, just in case she forgot.

She was going to call him Compeyson, then. So...Compeyson replied to the younger man with a raised eyebrow. "That's quite...extraordinary. Ignorant as I am of literature, that was surely uncommon in those days."

Arthur nodded. "It was only published posthumously, in the seventies, almost sixty years after it was written."

"After the Sexual Offences Act of '67." Compeyson added.

"Indeed. Imagine how many people it could have helped, reading about a romance like that with a happy ending." Arthur looked at Compeyson, biting his lip. When he had been speaking of Forster, a confidence had crept into his features. As much as it pained her to admit, his idleness and reading went hand in hand and his knowledge of literature was greater than her own. He had, however, suddenly grown timid.

"I am sorry, but...I really have to ask, or I'll lose my nerve. Are you...gay?" he asked, quickly adding "I mean, you could be bi or anything else, just... You were in that bar and on Saturday you asked me out, and I was kind of afraid you'd ask my sister instead."

Compeyson threw his head back and laughed. And laughed. Arthur was a not well-contained bundle of nerves and apprehension and seemed to be ready to retort that it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Which it was, Honoria agreed, curious herself.

Eventually, Compeyson replied. "No, I am not gay." he informed. Arthur stiffened slightly. "I am attracted to all sorts of people and I don't feel particularly inclined to label that attraction."

The younger man still looked wary, hands curling into fists on the tabletop.

"Right now, I am very attracted to you." Compeyson completed, settling his hand besides Arthur's. His breath stilled, eyes glancing at Compeyson's and then back at the inviting hand. Slowly, he uncurled his fist. When the other hand fit over his palm, he sighed.

"It's only you." he added, smiling slightly "Not your sister."

Honoria would have liked to laugh very loud both at the lines and at the colour Arthur's face turned into, but she didn't want to be discovered. Never in her lifetime of writing porn and romance had she quite managed to capture this much cheesiness. It was so cheesy it was kind of sweet.

"I...I have never done this sort of thing before."

"Going out? Dating?"

"Both, actually. I don't know many people who are not straight."

"Most people probably aren't. Societal expectations keep a lot in the closet."

Arthur grimaced. "I can relate to that."

"Doesn't your sister support you?" Compeyson asked, making Arthur snort "Oh, I see. Your father is the problem."

"Quite. It's actually funny you're mentioning that because I just came out to Amelia last Saturday."

"You mean, when I asked you out?"

"I mean, about half an hour before asking me out."

Compeyson's eyes crinkled in bemusement and he let out a whistle. "Well then, I'll have to ask you out again because that seems to bring you good luck."

Arthur gave Compeyson's hand a playful tug. "Are you asking me out or pretending to?"

Compeyson smiled. "I'd never pretend."

Arthur curled and uncurled his fingers into Compeyson's hand. A smile he tried very hard to get down had overpowered him and he was grinning now, face flushed.

"Well, yes then. I'd like a second date very much." he finally agreed, huffing when Compeyson smiled and Arthur grimaced. "I have to go now. Curfew at six, dinner at seven."

"How barbaric." Compeyson commented, getting up without releasing his hold on Arthur's hand. He did not complain.

As they exited the café, Honoria was not proud to admit to have followed them, but it was worth it. As Arthur said goodbye, Compeyson rested his hand on the younger man's neck and drew him in. Even Honoria had to admit she felt a bit weak in the knees as they kissed under the setting sun. It was ridiculously romantic and she hated hating it as it told more of her own unsatisfied romantic needs than of Arthur's. As they kissed, however, she noticed how Compeyson opened his eyes halfway before deepening the kiss. It struck her as odd. Was he bored? Surely Arthur couldn't be that horrible a kisser, even with all the experience he did not have.

When they ended the kiss, Arthur slightly wavering with dazed eyes, and parted with a smile, Compeyson remained behind. Honoria stuck to the wall, irrationally afraid to be seen by a man that did not know her face. He fished out a phone from his pocket, and she noticed it was a different one. He wrote a few lines something on it and smiled. It chilled her to the core. After a few moments, Compeyson adjusted the coat around his shoulders, put on his gloves and went the opposite way Arthur had gone.

She returned to her table and looked at the lines she had annotated on the open document. They were loving phrases, very flirty and light. Why did she feel a weight on her stomach?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey if you haven't read Maurice, you should. And watch the movie too.


	4. an ultra pink jello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pocket hears all about his little cousin's romancing and his worst problem at the moment is that blasted Maths test.

Matthew Pocket sighed, closing his eyes. It was a beautiful day. The arch just outside the corridor was sun-kissed and a blessing to his limbs, chilled after an entire morning of Mathematics. The teacher had his mind set on equations he was sure he had never seen the likes of before, no matter how much he looked at the quadratic in the notebook. Not a single one had made sense. Next week he was supposedly going to have an important test, the first one of the term, and he was sure he was going to fail. Even if he asked Amelia for help, and even if she did have the time. He might as well face it, and try to improve in the next one.

The arch was actually a nice open window in second floor and since most students tended to scaper to the Dining Hall after they were dismissed from class, blessfully empty. He could see the entirety of the courtyard underneath, a few stragglers that no doubt would be ushered in as soon as possible, the sports pavilion on the left and the dorm to the far right. Space-wise, the boarding school was well-equipped with a garden in the back and trees in every corner. Regarding the staff, they were not so blessed. His Maths teacher was alright, but only she and the Geography professor were any good at keeping up with the energies of teenagers.

A bump on his shoulder shook him from his reverie. He turned. His little cousin peered at him from under wayward curls, mouth set in a displeased curve. He seemed to have some glitter on his hair and eyebrows and the sun made him look especially fae-like. "Oh, hello Arthur. How was Drama?"

Arthur inhaled. "Dramatic."

Pocket raised his eyebrows. "You mean, more than usual? Who did you fight?" he asked, already anticipating the retaliation. Mornings with Drama and Theatre Studies usually left Arthut with more energy than would be expected from someone coming from such a lengthy class. They actually spent four hours in the auditorium! Four hours! If Pocket ever had four hours straight of one of his, he'd likely end up in the infirmary before lunch.

"I did not fight! I simply defended my side of the argument."

"So that's why you're pouting."

"I'm not-" Arthur started, flushing, and deflated just as quickly "You know what? I'm not even going to be like that today. I just told Mr Dedlock the text was supposed to be read with more calm as it fit the state of the character better as he had told us just yesterday, but I'm not even going to think about the incompetence of teachers anymore."

"And of course you didn't explain at length the reasons of his incompetence." Pocket advanced, grinning when Arthur shoved him.

"No, because I'm actually in a great mood and nothing can put me down."

"Oh? Arthur Havisham in a good mood? That is even harder to comprehend than those blasted equations, but do tell me about it."

Arthur huffed. "It's hardly rare."

"It's rarer!" piped a voice behind the two. They turned and saw Peter Cratchitt holding a pile of books above the head of the crowd, trying to navigate his way to the lateral arch that surely meant salvation. His nose was dusty with chalk.

"I thought you cleaned the board and cleared the desk yesterday." Pocket called in replacement of a greeting.

Peter snorted. "Tell that to Charlie. He apparently had some very pressing business to attend to behind the dorms."

"So he's smoking again." Arthur said, flinching slightly when Peter finally reached them and bumped into his side.

"Erm, sorry. Yes. And I'd say no, but really it's no trouble."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a Samaritan. They're only taking advantage." Peter shrugged, struggling to grapple all the books. Pocket took them from him. He was so tiny, didn't even look fifteen.

"Thanks." he gasped, trying to rotate his messenger bag so it wouldn't quite choke him. "You're going to have lunch?"

Arthur sighed dramatically "Or what they call lunch."

Peter had already turned to the passage that led to the cafeteria, greeting a couple of students from his year as he went by. Pocket raised his hand a few times, and got plenty on compliments on the latest game. Arthur didn't get greeted by anyone.

"Huh, I didn't know you played last week. Actually, I didn't even know there was a game." he said.

"Yeah. Winning goal and all that stuff. Too bad it won't help me with Maths." Pocket grimaced, looking at his cousin properly. He looked very good despite of the usual glower he put on. He wasn't so pale as he used to be, and had certainly put on a couple pounds, which to Pocket was always a sign of good health. Or so his coach had told him before every game.

Arthur hummed, loosing up his tie. "You might get a scholarship or something like that."

"Or something like that." he agreed, amused. Arthur was thinking of something else. "What I'd really like to know was where you were last weekend so you wouldn't have heard anything about a game. I know you went to Satis House as soon as 7PM, but nothing before." Arthur frowned, and Pocket added "A little bird told me."

"Amelia?" Arthur asked. Pocket nodded, opening the door to the dining hall himself to prevent Arthur from bumping into it, so focused was he in his surroundings. The hall was already half full and as noisy as it could possibly get under the disapproving glances of the Bumbles, the monitors. They delighted in keeping as much order as they could, which wasn't much as the man tended to get easily distracted and the woman too focused on one target at the time. As they entered, it was a poor 9th year that looked a bit green. If that was because of the food or Mrs Bumble, Pocket could not tell.

"I'm guessing you went for a walk."

"You could say so." Arthur replied, slightly ducking his head.

"With a very tall man."

"He's not that much taller than me."

"So it is Mr Compeyson."

"Who's Mr Compeyson?" Peter asked suddenly, making the two cousins jump. Arthur blushed profusely and quickened his step. Damn, he had forgotten Peter was there and now he was looking at Arthur and they had never spoken of Compeyson before.

"He's none of your business." replied Arthur shortly, clearly sneering at the poor boy who was just curious. No wonder his cousin was not very popular, gay rumours be damned. Time, as usual, for Pocket to salvage the situation.

"He's a tutor." he informed the boy, trying to spot their tables behind a group of students.

"I thought you were getting straight A's." Peter retorted. Pocket snorted, sitting in their usual place and avoiding Arthur's glare.

"He gets straight A's indeed..." he muttered, setting the books on the table and dropping his bag on the floor. Finally. Food.

"What he means is, my tutor is helping me keep up the good work." Arthur explained, sitting down more forcefully than usual. His tie was already draped over his shoulder, and Pocket hoped Mrs Bumble would not notice it. He needed lunch so very much at that moment, and not a trip to the headmaster's for something so triffle as dress etiquette.

"And try new things, no doubt. I mean, new studying techniques." he mumbled, quietly pleased with how red Arthur got. It was a delight to have such a easily ruffled cousin. Amelia was amazing but really hard to surprise, much less tease. Honoria was a bit better. The best actually, and that left Pocket unwittingly embarrassed at times.

Peter looked between the two. "I feel like I'm hearing half of a conversation," he complained, "Is this Mr Compeyson your boyfriend?"

Arthur spluttered but didn't say a word, choosing very carefully to check his messenger bag for some pens. Pocket, however, did not have any excuse, and Peter zoned on him.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Yeah, a bit." Pocket confessed, looking at his cousin for any reaction. As he was still looking at the fascinating matter within his bag, he took it as a sign of free reign over the conversation. He looked around, but most students seemed to be moaning very loudly about their first test results, and thus very unaware of other conversations. "How do you know Arthur's...you know."

Peter started. "I thought everyone knew." Arthur whined into his bag, looking increasingly like he desired for it to swallow him up.

"What do you mean? Are there more than rumours?" Pocket asked, lowering his voice. Peter bit his lip. Word of the mouth on corridors and changing rooms, whispered conversations and indiscretions on the dorms, that was the stuff that made an all-boys school minimally interesting. One could only put up with so much testosterone on a daily basis. He didn't like the thought of Arthur's name crossing those dirty mouths, however. If it reached the teachers or the headmaster, it wouldn't bode well for his cousin. It'd mean letters and phone calls and meetings. Pocket shuddered just thinking about it.

"No, just rumours," Peter answered, at last, "but you know how rumours are. Sometimes they're taken as facts". Peter glanced at Arthur "It's true, though. Isn't it?"

Arthur lifted his head and breathed out, "I'm not sure just how many people I can come out to in a single month."

Pocket sniggered at his idiotic cousin. "I'm pretty sure there's no limit."

Arthur ended up sticking his pens back inside the bag. He seemed relieved, just like with Amelia. Good, he needed to know not everyone was homophobic. He did not want his cousin to be so guarded every time. He'd known since they were thirteen and had compared dicks as a joke and Arthur had said very quietly he liked boys. And dicks. Very very much. And then Pocket had asked if he liked his dick and Arthur had punched him and that had been it. They hadn't kept any secrets ever since. He couldn't imagine what it could be to hide such a fundamental part of yourself from everyone else. It had been illegal until fifty years ago for Christ's sake. He didn't want his little cousin to be the subject of talk and insults at the school they had to basically live in. It was a wonder that Peter thought the way he did and he told him so.

"Oh, we get all sorts at my place." he explained, smiling. "Our flat's in Vauxhall."

Arthur did a double take. "Your family lives in a gay neighbourhood."

Peter shrugged. "Dad says it came with a very cheap rent, and he has no trouble with people with different sexual orientations. Or races. Or whatever." he informed them with a ver firm nod, finishing with "Dad really likes people."

And then he took a roll from the basket and tore in, clearly famished. Pocket really liked Peter. Looking at Arthur, he could see he was touched. He wasn't always nice to Peter, nor did he answer him properly or treated him as he deserved. The boy had been following the two of them around since he had joined the boarding school, as at first he hadn't had many friends either. Most of the boys that studied at their school were rich and privileged since birth, and Peter was a scholarship student. Their school had to have at least one scholarship student per school year as dictated by the rules and Peter Cratchitt, the son of a clerk, had been chosen among a of multitude of other boys from families with lower incomes. The hard truth was that, from what Pocket had heard from his father, the board of the school was trying to get rid of that rule. Apparently they wanted to 'maintain the standards'. If he had been on the board meeting that day, he'd surely have thrown a fit. He suspected his father did and that's why the rule remained. If they admired the 'standards' so much, they'd have to hear his father's academically certified thoughts on it.

The fact that they could give kids like Peter a chance, even if it was only one, didn't even cover the minimum of what they should do. Peter was very hard-working and incredibly good with numbers. Pocket was half-tempted to ask him to do the test for him, but he knew his class had not gotten to that part of the programme. He hated that people like Charlie treated him like a servant. Arthur had been, at times, awfully classist like that. But a well-delivered cuff on the head did the trick.

"So, you got a boyfriend then." Peter quipped quietly, crumbs on his nose and a grin on his face. He still hadn't cleaned the chalk off his nose, so Pocket reached and helped him.

Arthur tried to remain serious, but utterly failed and had to hide his face on his glass. They started to distribute the trays, 20 per table, one for each student. Each had the same ammount of washed-down carbohydrates, lean protein and grubby sauce. Dessert was usually fine, today an ultra pink jello, and soup was surprisingly good. It seemed as if they wanted to maintain the standards on either a scaled-down version of college level or scale up of public school.

"Aw, I am like that with Martha. Must be true love."

Arthur snorted. "It's hardly love at all, I've only known him for a month," he replied, pausing a few second to reach for his tray. The noise in the hall had risen considerably and Pocket marvelled at Mrs Bumble's convergent mind. She was still lecturing that poor sod, instead of letting him go to the nurse. Which, thinking of Miss Gamp, may not be such bad a decision after all.

"So it's been you and him all those weekend afternoons," Pocket whispered, "so romantic."

"You sound like I've been having a five-day weekend every week!"

"Doesn't time feel eternal when you're in love?" Peter wondered, voice in mock dream.

Arthur glared. Peter grinned back. Arthur's glare slowly dissolved.

"I have been having a wonderful time, actually." he admitted, starting to eat his soup and complicating the action with that perpetual small smile "We went to Richmond Park two weeks ago. It's really isolated and lovely. Did you know that's where Henry VIII supposedly brought Anne Boleyn on their honeymoon? It was also where he heard news from her death, but love and death do go hand in hand."

Pocket raised one eyebrow. "And that's romantic."

"We did a picnic." Arthur replied, shrugging and continuing to eat.

"What else did you do?" Peter inquired, having already eaten the soup and another roll of bread.

"Well, there was this afternoon he decided to take me to a lovely tea room in Soho. It had scones and crumpets and all that sort of stuff but there was also this wonderful peach ice cream that we shared. He introduced me to the owner and she told me all those stories about when he had been in school and how he studied there every afternoon. We ended up not paying because the woman had missed him so terribly and he had been there when the tea room had first opened. And then she lectured him for never having come back after school ended. Meriwether was so embarrassed!" he finished with a laugh, nose slightly crinkling.

"And we walked along the Southern Bank the other day and talked a lot about his work and my classes. He asked about my family, that sort of stuff. I spoke about that afternoon we skipped school to go to Regent's Park to play football and also about that time we escaped the Bumbles and hid in the gardening shed and eventually fell asleep. I thought I was making him grow bored, but he seemed really interested." he said quietly, playing with the liquid in the bowl. Pocket sensed an ellipsis on that entire statement.

"No, no no. Don't do that." Pocket warned.

Arthur set his spoon down. "What." he spat.

"You're doing the whole 'downplaying what I'm really feeling so I won't get my hopes up' thing," Pocket explained, "and you should stop. If the guy didn't want to be with you, why waste time? Why come to Satis House?"

"Maybe he's bored." Arthur mumbled. Pocket kicked him under the table. Peter looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

"The guy's into you. Stop being like that." Pocket warned.

"You stop being like that." Arthur countered.

"You guys stop acting my age instead of yours." Peter suggested.

They ate in silence for a while, neither giving in until Arthur relented with a sigh. "I'm actually very excited and I cannot wait for Friday."

"Me too, even if I only have equations to look forward to." Pocket agreed, a small migraine already starting to form.

"Oh, but my father is going away for this weekend." Arthur informed the two, eyes wide and grin wider.

"What does that mean?"

Arthur smiled wickedly. "That means I am going to spend the weekend at Meriwether's."

Pocket gasped for dramatic effect. "That's bloody great!"

"Wait, who's Meriwether?"

"Mr Compeyson. Meriwether Compeyson."

"That's a weird name."

Pocket chuckled as Arthur groaned in frustration. It was indeed a very beautiful day. He felt very happy right now, stomach and heart both full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, soundtrack for this chapter is 'Happy' by Pharrell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Sxv-sUYtM


	5. an unexpected pink scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur visits Meriwether's flat and they have lots of sex. Lots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter, which has these additional warnings: blowjobs, anal fingering, handjobs, rough sex, anal sex and, more triggering, body image issues and manipulation. (It IS Compeyson, guys)

The night was cold and the London smog did not help in keeping sidewalk from street. Their breaths mingled, crisp white in the surrounding darkness. The flat was just around the corner, his companion told him, and slightly staggering together they managed to find the place.

It had been a lovely night out. The bar they went to had been full of interesting people. Slightly forward, handsy people, but Arthur had managed a nice chat anyway with a guy from Shropshire who really missed his family. At the time it had made him think of Amelia, and how she was alone with their father and Honoria back at Satis House, but seeing as his presence was at times an ornament, he was sure they would not miss him terribly for that one weekend. He surely wasn’t regretting his decision. He was sober, unlike the first time he went clubbing, and very aware of what he was doing. Too aware, perhaps, and increasingly tense.

Meriwether was not drunk either, and did not share Arthur’s flush, but he was pleasantly buzzing by his side. Or maybe that was Arthur himself, who had had his stomach in a knot since Meriwether had indicated their stop on the tube. He was very nervous, even with Meriwether’s hand resting on his back in what was surely meant to be a reassuring weight. He had probably noticed how silent he had become, and wasn’t that just a big flashing sign declaring the novelty of all this to him. He was nervous, yes, but not just because he was currently climbing the stair to his lover’s apartment - and that was a novelty all by itself. He was nervous because he had never told Meriwether this would be his first time. And he was a bit afraid that someone that looked so experienced would think of his lack of maturity in sexual matters. So Meriwether’s helping hand wasn’t helping at all.

As they reached the flat, Meriwether removing his touch so he could open the door, Arthur wondered at how he had ever gotten here, and the chance he’d have lost if he hadn’t decided to go to that first gay club with Pocket. He wondered how many chances he had lost already by staying still, at home, and not fighting back the restrictions his father had on him.

The door opened and Meriwether flicked the lights on. The flat was relatively small, only one division and what he thought was the bathroom in the far left. The side opposite to the door was impressively covered in glass in its entirety, and the building across the street, peppered with lit windows, looked back at him. The kitchen occupied a third of the space. It looked well-furnished, with a stove and fridge and all the usual appliances. There was island in place of a table, with three stools but empty otherwise. The rest of the space seemed just as bare. A small desk with a laptop and stationary, a queen-sized bed and a closet on the right. For the amount of clothes Meriwether seemed to own, he’d have expected a walk-in closet. The bed, however, looked very nice and inviting and he must have been staring at it for too long because the next thing he knew, Meriwether was calling him from the island.

“I trust you haven’t had too much to drink.” he said. Arthur shook his head. He hadn’t had one at all. How could he, knowing he’d come to this place? He didn’t want to embarrass himself.

“I haven’t either. I really could do with one, though. Do you want some?” he asked. Arthur nodded. One drink could do no harm.

He watched Meriwether as he opened a cupboard, butt looking splendid in those jeans. He did not know how it was possible to dress so well. He had suits and tuxedos, all that formal wear that he sometimes had to use when there were celebrations his father had to include both children in, but he detested both the clothes and the occasions. Amelia did alright, seamlessly weaving conversation from investor to banker to competition and sporting the dress of the party, or whatever it was called. Arthur was useless at fashion and actually benefitted from wearing a school uniform most of the time. His own clothes were mostly hoodies at home and an exuberant amount of sweaters for everything else. The fanciest he could get was his Burberry coat, which he adored and abused in wear. He must look like a lost cause most of the time, certainly to Meriwether who sported vests because he ‘liked them’ and suit jackets because they were ‘comfortable’. Arthur’s idea of comfortable was a nice woolen sweater and tracksuit pants.

Meriwether returned with two very large glasses with a very small amount of amber liquid. Arthur raised an eyebrow, to which Meriwether smirked. Taking one of the glasses and smelling it, he could understand why. It must be a strong drink.

“Have you ever tried brandy?” Meriwether asked, brandishing his glass. The liquid sloshed, reflecting all the lights in the flat. It felt bright after the relative darkness of the street.

Arthur shook his head. “No, I have not.” he replied, taking a sip. It had a pleasant burn but it was a bit strong. “It’s nice.”

“You’re speaking rather monosyllabically tonight.” Meriwether teased, taking a sip himself.

Arthur blushed. “I, I’m a bit…” he stammered, feeling lost about what he could say that wouldn’t make him sound immature and so pathetic.

“Nervous?” Meriwether competed, eyes twinkling with amusement. The prick.

“Yes,” he breathed out, “Just a little. This isn’t my usual weekend plan.” His voice hitched higher when he noticed Meriwether approaching. It suddenly struck him with delayed clarity that they were completely alone. He was alone with another man, in said man’s house, and they were going to have sex. He swallowed, ingesting a bit more of brandy than he had intended.

“I hope it proves an adequate substitution for your usual entertainment, then.” Meriwether mused, now completely in Arthur’s space. It would be intimidating if it didn’t make Arthur’s blood buzz in the most wonderful way. Under the warm interior lights, the twinkle in his eyes wavered with every shift in his expression. Being the object of that gaze, Arthur felt like he was going to be devoured. He liked that.

“I’ll review it later,” he replied, trying to regain some control in the grip of his glass, “May return a second time.”

Meriwether smiled very slowly, looking like a cat that had had his wishes fulfilled, ducked and met his lips. They were wet with brandy and Arthur, feeling a bit daring, decided to lick them. Meriwether chuckled into the kiss, took a step back and eyed the younger man. He downed the rest of the drink. As Arthur did the same, he set the glasses in the sink, giving Arthur time to compose himself. He could do this. He had been courted - and no other word could fit so perfectly the walks in Regent’s Park, the lunches on Soho restaurants and long conversations by the Thames - for over a month, and he wanted this so much. The knot on his stomach had dissolved into flutters, yes, but he could control that.

When Meriwether returned, he felt ready. He shrugged off his coat, mirrored by Meriwether who dimmed the lights with the control imbedded into the wall. It wasn’t completely dark, but Arthur didn’t feel so self-aware anymore. He met Meriwether again, kissing him lightly on the jaw as he started to undo the buttons on his shirt. Meriwether swallowed underneath his mouth, adam’s apple bobbing as he worked on Arthur’s clothes in return. He vaguely noticed they were retreating into the room, step by step reaching the bed. Arthur’s shirt was completely unbottoned by the time he felt the back of his legs hit something hard, and Meriwether pushed him gently onto the surface.

Looking up, Arthur could see him perfectly, and his shirt was not completely unbuttoned. He set to correct that, sliding his hands up grey fabric and continuing undressing Meriwether as the man bent over him, hands over Arthur’s own torso.

“You’re very beautiful.” he stated, not giving Arthur any time to reply before claiming his lips again. Arthur shuddered, hands regaining strength and pursuing their task. Meriwether was bared in no time, the shirt discarded to the floor. He hoped he didn’t mind. Seeing as he was busy running his hands across Arthur’s nipples and creating the most incredible friction, Arthur would have guessed he did not. A particularly sensitive spot made him cry out and hit the plump coverlet with a ‘ooph’. He laughed, and Meriwether started to use his mouth on his stomach. Arthur wasn’t particularly fit, always having thought running or physical education a waste of his time and an exercise for lesser animals. He almost wished he’d thought otherwise because the way Meriwether mouthed the creases around his bellybutton made him self-conscious. He wasn’t fat, but he certainly wasn’t as toned as his lover, and once again he reflected upon the differences in their bodies and lives. Meriwether had a very manicured life, full of experiences that allowed him to project some amount of confidence. That was very attractive. Arthur lived one boring day after the other, hoping to leave Satis House but not daring to.

A slight bite on his nipple made him cry out and realize that Meriwether had travelled much further up. “You’re distracted.” he said above him, eyes bearing into his. He did not seem offended, but curious instead.

Arthur swallowed and his hand unwittingly dragged across Meriwether’s chest, catching all the plains and abs he did not have himself. The manly hair that dusted across them.

“I was just wondering how you could feel attracted to me.” he said, voice small. He felt ridiculous. He had a man that looked straight out of a magazine spread currently licking his body and he was complaining he did not exactly look the same. It stood to reasoning that he must not find him repulsive, but he felt like this was a big joke on his expense and that someday he’d have the rug pulled from under his feet. One month, eleven days and counting. He had never been this happy. Never for so long.

Meriwether tensed and Arthur nearly swore for breaking the mood. But when he glanced back, the other man was smirking.

“Should I tell you of your liquid brown eyes? How they seem to haunt me for days? How they look like when the sun over Westminster is reflected on them?” he asked, pacing each sentence with a kiss to his forehead.

“Should I tell you of your elegant hands?” he inquired, picking up one and kissing the knuckles. “How they torture me when you wrap them around my arm? How many uses I can pick for them in the length of a finger?”

Arthur shivered, face growing warm and eyes stinging with relief.

“Should I tell you of your Havisham nose?” he continued, making Arthur laugh “It really is quite something when it turns up.” he finsihed, ending the sentence with a kiss to the tip of said nose.

“Should I tell you of your cherry-red mouth? How it looks like Heaven and Hell? How it’s begging me to kiss it every second we are near?” he said, exemplifying it with a light peck.

“Or should I tell you of this?” Meriwether finished, leading Arthur’s hand down somewhere he could not see from that angle. Then he felt it.

“You don’t need to tell me about it.” he replied, smiling. His heart felt like it would burst. He felt flushed and blooming. He felt hot, but what he touched ran far hotter. It bulged in his hand, through Meriwether’s jeans, and he felt himself grow in response.

“As you can see, you are quite the delicacy.” Meriwether said, voice gravely as he whispered in his ear “I cannot wait to eat you whole.”

Arthur found himself agreeing, melting into the bed. These jeans had to go and so had Meriwether’s. Taking the initiative and undoing his buttons, the other man took the hint and did his. Pants were discarted as well as their underwear and Arthur’s shirt and when they faced eachother again, naked and throbbing, Arthur found every doubt vanishing under the proof of physical need. He saw his own desire reflected in his lover and raised up in his forearms, beckoning him with a turn of his head. Meriwether’s prick stood heavy and hard. Arthur had never seen one like that before and he found his mouth ache for a taste. All the other boys had not been generally small, but definitely not like Meriwether. He tentatively reached for it and stroked upwards. Meriwether grunted, accidentally thrusting and Arthur smirked. The weight of his cock was scorching in his hand, each vein feeling like a promise. It was empowering.

“You are a terror.” Meriwether pronounced, voice definitely too even for Arthur’s liking. He set to correct that by twisting his hand around the tip, delighted in seeing the precome leaking from it. He really couldn’t wait to put it in his mouth. He was content in using his hand for now, though, and decided to get more creative by fondling his balls. The resulting moan was a reward all in itself, but the hand Meriwether raked though Arthur’s pubic hair also led to a nice sensation.

Meriwether leaned down and his cock slipped from Arthur’s loosening grip. It touched his hipbone and the contrast in temperature made him squirm. The other man rested his weight against his form, effectively trapping him. His entire world at the moment was Meriwether, the sheets and darkness, and Arthur rejoiced in the warmth it brought him.

“Will you let me do something for you, Arthur?” Meriwether asked, hand rubbing his neck in a manner that both made him relax and tremble, “Something very good?”

“Anything you want.” he sighed against his lips.

He felt the fraction of a smile before Meriwether removed himself altogether from the bed. Whining at the loss of touch, Arthur peered at his surroundings. They were in a bubble of semi-darkness, Meriwether’s backside currently illuminated by the weak light of the street lamp. The interior lights only allowed him to see the general shape of things. The rest was lost to him, half-delirious with want. Once Meriwether got what he was looking for, he returned. It was lube and a package of condoms. Arthur swallowed.

Meriwether looked down at him while he covered his fingers. His eyes were very dark. As a slick finger slowly entered his hole, Arthur noticed them no more. It was painful at first, as he had predicted it would. Even with Meriwether’s gentleness he couldn’t help but tense up again. A hand on his navel told him to lay still and he shut his eyes. As the first finger massaged him towards a more comfortable sensation, a second one was added. Meriwether waited as Arthur adjusted and spread his legs wider. This was certainly different, he thought as the man above him resumed his motions.

“If you could see yourself right now,” Meriwether wondered, twisting his fingers deeper, “you look like a painting.”

Arthur sank deeper into Meriwether’s fingers, finally finding some pleasantness in the motion. It was still intrusive but he found it soothing. It’d probably feel better with more. As if reading his mind, Meriwether added a third finger. Much better. Meriwether covered him again, hand still working, and placed a kiss on each of his eyelids. Arthur opened his eyes and felt his eyelashes grace Meriwether’s lips as they kissed their way down, once in each cheek, twice on the lips, thrice on his neck and he counted no more as something sparked inside him. He easily welcomed Meriwether’s fingers by then, and was surprised at the shock of pleasure. Meriwether did it again. And again. Arthur cried out each time, eager for more but finding himself disappointed as Meriwether withdrew.

Head lolling as he perched up in his elbows again, he noticed just how wide he had spread his legs. He must look absolutely debauched.

“Not yet, but you will be.” Meriwether said, and it dawned upon Arthur that he had spoken out loud. He looked at what Meriwether was doing and felt his prick perk up at the sight of the other man stroking himself, condom already on, and hardening with the touch. The knot on his stomach, loosened by the continuous touching and kissing, tangled itself again.

“You want it, don’t you Arthur? You want this?” he asked, and Arthur felt that he should be thank Meriwether for being so patient and kind, and that he did not push into anything he did not want. He nodded.

Crawling over the other boy, erection hanging heavy between his legs, Meriwether kissed the inside of his thigh, then his penis - oh, the sensation - then the navel, his chest, each nipple, the space between collarbones, his neck, his chin, his lips. Arthur had his upper body sectioned and categorized while Meriwether’s length teased his entrance, fleeting touches that could do so much more. He must have whined or leaned into that source of heat because when he next came to from his sensorial distractions a burning weight bore into him. He hissed. This was not like the fingers at all.

Meriwether kissed his curls but did not relent in driving forward until he rested inside Arthur to the hilt. Shutting his eyes against the discomfort, Arthur breathed out, trying to adjust as Meriwether waited inside, around, over him. He wrapped his arms around the other man. Meriwether was everywhere. He couldn’t possibly weave himself into Arthur any further. They felt as one and, as Meriwether started to cant his hips, they moved as one as well.

Arthur groaned at the sharp sensation that overcame him at the friction. It was painful, but oddly enough not as painful as the two fingers that preceded it. It just felt fuller.

“Do you want me to stop?” Meriwether asked, ceasing his motions to look at Arthur. His hair was uncharacteristically disheveled.

“Don’t you dare, you fucker!” he complained, gritting his teeth. Meriwether laughed quietly.

“Such language,” he tutted, “what shall I tell Amelia?” He had, however, resumed the thrusting, trying to aim deeper.

Arthur kicked him lightly on the back with his heel. “Nothing if you know what’s good for o-oh.”

What had been that?

“Oh god, do that again.” Arthur begged, hands scrambling for purchase on Meriwether’s back. He complied, resulting in a repetition of a sweet sort of pain that came from that specific spot Meriwether had found inside him. He’d never felt that before, of course he hadn’t. Oh. How was this possible? Oh god.

He saw stars and found himself growing harder by the second. The friction Meriwether issued inside him and on his prick through the touch of their stomachs was delicious. He found himself unable to utter a single word and all he could do was moan.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” Meriwether breathed out, increasing the speed of his propelling hips. “You feel so good.”

Meriwether now relentlessly pursued that spot inside Arthur and it drove him mad with pleasure. He could feel himself nearing his peak, his breathing growing more laboured. His lips felt numb from Meriwether’s kisses. Arthur arched his back, allowing Meriwether to bury himself deeper inside him, never missing his mark. His ankles pressed into Meriwether’s lower back, encouraging him further. His skin did not feel his own. He felt lost and delirious with pleasure, decadence unfolding in moans and gasps.

His orgasm came with a strength he had not anticipated and wouldn’t have thought possible after the persistence of Meriwether’s fucking. He arched higher and felt Meriwether spending inside him with an incredulous grunt. Arthur laughed and fell limp. Meriwether lifted his head, supporting his weight on his forearms. His very lovely and toned forearms, Arthur mused as he ran his hands over veins, caressing the fuzz that covered them and trying to regain his breath. Meriwether was still inside him and he felt with some discomfort the softening of his prick. As the other man removed his cock, its loss was felt acutely. He sighed, wanting it inside him again. Judging by the liquid state of his limbs, he guessed that wouldn’t happen today.

Sinking further into the bed, he watched Meriwether get up and cross the studio to the kitchen. Heard the sound of running water and found he could not think of anything else. He was blissfully fucked out of coherent thought.

When Meriwether returned with a damp cloth, he complained as it swiped his over-sensitive dick and hole, the cold of the cloth making him whimper. Probably attempting to appease him, Meriwether lifted his legs and bum and covered him with the sheets. After cleaning himself up and discarding the cloth, he buried himself under the sheets with Arthur. Arthur knew no more, fast asleep within moments.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur woke up to the bright light that flooded the apartment. It was late, but perhaps not later than what he was used to waking up every weekend. The flat looked even barer than last night, when shadows and the warmth of Meriwether’s skin seemed to fill it up. Now he noticed how it contained the bare minimum. The blacks and whites of the fridge and cupboard, the kitchen island and the three stools, the closed closet at the foot of the bed. The two pieces of fruit in the fruit bowl. Taking into account how much Meriwether seemed to work at the different companies that hired him and how they were from all over London, he guessed there wasn’t much reason for a home. He only needed somewhere to sleep in, somewhere he could stop and rest from his busy routine, that brought him a well-deserved respite. He’d never wake up to this light, perhaps getting up while it was still dark due to the earliness of the hour or the clouds of the London weather. Would he make breakfast in his own kitchen or fetch it from a nearby coffee shop? He liked his expresso black – like his soul, Meriwether would joke. Would he be a regular anywhere? Bemoan when they got their order wrong?

He’d then work his day away in the offices and building he had to, eat at the places more convenient, arrive so late he’d have to watch out for thieves and muggers in the shadows. Returning home to sleep alone.

It was a bit sad, to be honest. But he too could understand the lack of a home. Satis House was, at best, only that; a house. It had his sister and his posters and books and yes even Honoria, but only that. School was much more of a home seeing as he already slept there during the week, but he hated it as much as he liked it. Pocket and Peter were alright, more than alright. They accepted him as he was, unlike the rest of the school. He wasn’t proud of what he did there either.

He was scattered: Satis House, school and now here. Was Meriwether scattered too?

He stretched, laziness running through his body head to toes. He had never felt this comfortable. He could lie in this bed with Meriwether warming his side and breathing on his naked shoulder for the entirety of the day. He closed his eyes, content in keeping the illusion that it was still dawn and not past noon. He wanted to return to that lovely daydream of a handsome man kissing him inside his thighs. That the dream had actually happened, Arthur could still not process.

“Your lips are swollen.” He heard Meriwether say, voice lower than Arthur was used to hearing.

“And whose fault is that, I wonder.” Arthur replied, eyes still shut and head half buried by the pillow.

“You look absolutely sinful.” Meriwether whispered against his skin “You keep making me sin.”

Arthur’s cheeks bloomed as Meriwether licked his pulse point and –oh. He did not know he was sensitive to that. He opened his eyes and ran his hand over Meriwether’s hair. It had gotten longer during the time they had gotten to know each other but Meriwether kept it perfectly styled all the time. At the current moment, he thought it looked more wild than his own. It fit him better than any gel. He told him so.

“I’m fairly sure my employers would disagree,” he laughed, once again resting his weight on his elbows and covering Arthur’s body with his own, “But once again you prove to think different.”

“I’m not your employer so I get to have that freedom. I bet they all secretly like it.”

Meriwether smiled mysteriously. “Perhaps.”

Before Arthur could inquire any further, Meriwether kissed him on the lips again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever kissed someone so much as I did last night.” He stated, frowning. “You are making me soft, Arthur.”

Arthur felt laughter bubble up inside his chest, but refrained to do so as Meriwether looked very upset indeed. “I rather thought you looked very hard.”

Meriwether deadpanned. Then a devilish glint crossed his eyes and before Arthur knew it he was being dragged down the sheets, pillow ripped from under his head with the suddenness of the movement. He couldn’t help but laugh now.

“Oh? So I was too hard, is that what you mean?” Meriwether asked, now kneeling and comfortably settled between Arthur’s legs.

Arthur shook his head. “I think you were perfectly hard.”

It was Meriwether’s turn to laugh, and as he bent down to kiss Arthur’s nose, Arthur felt his erection. He found himself increasing the space between his legs to better accommodate him. The touch of skins was an unexpected pleasure in the morning, both still half-asleep with the indulging touches. The languid kisses Meriwether distributed across his chest started to direct downwards. Growing hard himself, he resumed petting Meriwether’s hair. It was so soft. He’d never say it to Meriwether, but he thought that despite being so forward and confident, he projected a well-nurtured laziness. Once again he was reminded of a big cat. A big cat that had learned to live in the city.

Meriwether was kissing his navel now, clearly pleased with teasing Arthur’s hipbone with his hand as well. The small circles burying into his skin were both grounding and maddening, and made him too aware of what Meriwether was about to do. He had never had been given head before, always being the one to please his classmates. It’d be nice to have the favour returned. As Meriwether nuzzled into Arthur’s pubic hair, he found himself whimpering. When Meriwether kissed his tip ever so gently, he cried out.

“You’re perfectly hard yourself.” Meriwether said before engulfing Arthur’s cock at once.

He’d once done it like that, on his first time giving a blowjob. It had not gone well for either party, Arthur choking and his classmate hissing and being scared he’d bite his dick off. It had ended pretty quickly. Meriwether’s mouth, however, was very warm and Arthur had been very wet already, so the friction wasn’t off-putting. It was a bit rough, but Arthur felt so grateful to the man currently swallowing him up that he did not mind one bit.

Overwhelmed by the touch, Arthur found himself unable to speak again. He used the hand on Meriwether’s hair as encouragement and simply cried out when Meriwether used his tongue in a more sensitive spot. It felt amazing.

When he reached his orgasm, drawn out as Meriwether kept pulling out so tease him further with the cold air, Meriwether did not swallow. He swabbed a bit with his thumb and led it to Arthur’s mouth. He’d never tasted himself before either. The last fifteen hours had been a conjunction of first experiences, all with Meriwether. He realized that he’d always remember him as his first. He smiled, growing lazy again.

“And you tell me I’m the eager one?” Arthur asked, heart still stammering fast.

“In my defense, you looked delicious.”

“You didn’t even taste me.” Arthur replied, pouting.

“I’m such a generous person I gave it to you.” Meriwether replied with a grin on his lips. Arthur thought that wouldn’t do.

He grabbed Meriwether’s erection, felt its hardness like the previous night, and wondered at how it had fit inside him. How it had found that spot that made everything spark. He stroked, trying to grab some precum to alleviate the rubbing of skin and Meriwether gasped above him, clearly caught unprepared. Arthur smiled and kept rubbing his cock, feeding off the encouraging moans that escaped Meriwether’s mouth. Cradling Arthur’s head with both hands, he resumed his kissing. He had said he had never kissed anyone that much before. Arthur had never been kissed at all.

His chest felt tight as Meriwether continued to kiss him, and his hands trembled. He continued stroking Meriwether, or tried to since Meriwether stopped and looked down at him. Arthur averted his eyes. He could not look at him. A hand on his made him stop his motions.

“What’s wrong?” Meriwether asked, nose brushing his in an attempt to make him look.

“I don’t think I’ve been completely honest with you.” He replied.

Meriwether kept silence, probably gauging what it was from his expression.

“About my sexual experience.” Arthur added. He removed his hand and Meriwether didn’t seem affected, just focused on Arthur’s face. “Or my lack of.”

Meriwether raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, last time was my first time.”

“I sort of noticed, Arthur.” Meriwether replied with a smile. “You needed half an hour to be prepared.”

It was Arthur’s time to be surprised. “Half an hour? It didn’t seem that long!”

Meriwether chuckled. “I am glad it wasn’t such an ordeal to you. Times does fly by when we’re having fun.”

“No…it’s just. Half an hour?” Arthur huffed “How didn’t you get bored with me?”

“You were making many entertaining noises.” Meriwether replied, getting a shove in return. Arthur frowned at how obvious he had been. As if sensing his displeasure, Meriwether caressed his cheeks, thumb feeling soothing with its warmth.

“You did more than alright, Arthur. Was that the only sexual experience you ever had?”

Arthur shook his head. “I…I actually gave head to some guys from school.” He felt his lips twist and he bit the inside of cheek. “A lot of guys.”

“What about what I just did?” Meriwether asked. Arthur had noticed his erection was basically gone. He cursed himself for breaking the mood. He couldn’t even be good for this.

He shook his head again. “Never had anything done to me before.” He confessed, almost adding that their first date had been his first date, that their first kiss had been his first kiss. That the first time he’d gone clubbing he’d met Meriwether. That it was the first time he felt romantically loved.

“How very gracious of them.” Meriwether replied. “However, it’s their loss and my gain.”

Arthur felt like he could cry out of relief. The moment of erotic playfulness was gone, but he could still salvage the situation. Snuggling closer to Meriwether he whispered his apologies. Meriwether shushed him.

“Don’t be silly. We’ve got about twenty-four hours to indulge.” He whispered against his ear, hands wrapping around Arthur’s torso. Arthur closed his knees over Meriwether’s back and sighed. “Tell me about your first sexual experience.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.”

Meriwether laughed. “That bad?” he asked, to which Arthur nodded. He rolled on his back laid side by side with Arthur.

“What about your sexual awakening? When did you know you were gay?”

Arthur laughed. “Thirteen. Maurice.”

Meriwether huffed. “It bet it was Rupert Graves’ cock.”

Arthur blinked. “I thought you didn’t know it.”

“I looked it up.” He replied. Arthur felt something bloom inside his chest. He reached for Meriwether’s hand.

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

It was night. Meriwether was smoking by the window, profile in stark relief. The lights from the street were not enough to reach the rest of the apartment, though. Arthur could not sleep. Tomorrow he’d have to return to school by nightfall and call his father telling him his weekend of studying had been ‘tiresome, but productive’ and he’d then reply that it was ‘only his duty as a Havisham’ and then they’d hang up, nothing earned with the conversation, nothing learned.

He didn’t want the weekend to end, however life seemed to wish otherwise. Their day had been wonderful. Famished by two in the afternoon and having nothing to cook with Meriwether’s excuse for grocery, they’d gone to the supermarket and bought drinks, bread and filling, carrying their bounty in Arthur’s backpack to the nearest park, a pitiful thing called Shoreditch Park. As they had been too tired to take the tube and too lazy to walk any further, a small bench by that site it was. It had been a poor choice, they realized as the cold had increased significantly from the previous day. They spread between them an unexpected pink scarf found at the bottom of Meriwether’s closet to try to keep the appearance of a picnic. They practically ate on top of each other to gather some warmth and returned to the flat as soon as possible, snuggling under the covers for the rest of the afternoon. Arthur had made tea at some point, and they’d found a pack of biscuits.

Looking back at Meriwether on that windowsill, hips cocked to one side, Arthur decided to end the day as they had started. He got up, trying to be as quiet as possible. He failed of course, and Meriwether glanced at him as soon as he set foot on the floor.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I can’t.” Arthur admitted “I keep thinking of those poor pigeons.”

Meriwether sniggered. That had been a running joke since they had gone to a café in Blackfriars mid-October. The weather had been horrible and even those flying rats, escaping the wind coming from the Thames, had tried to get some shelter inside the café. It had obviously not worked. And then today they had been followed by a couple of them to the flat and Meriwether had visibly struggled to both enter the building and keep the animals out.

“Those filthy things had it coming.” Meriwether declared, glancing at Arthur’s hand.

“What a cruel man you are.” Arthur teased, approaching. “A tyrant.”

“What does that make you, dear Arthur? My slave?”

Arthur kissed a nipple, hand finding the other.  Meriwether’s scent was intoxicating. “Anything you want.”

Meriwether blew out a puff of smoke and chuckled. “Don’t say things like that, Arthur. I might take you up on it.”

“I wish you would.” He confided, biting his lip and going for a kiss. He was stopped by Meriwether, a hand on his chest. He looked into his eyes and shivered at how dark they were. His mouth was set on a smile that made him a little nervous. Seconds ticked by.

“On your knees, then.” He demanded. Arthur obeyed, grin on his lips.

Meriwether undid the buttons on his jeans. He wore nothing underneath, and Arthur realized he had been like that when they had gone out. He imagined the sensation of Meriwether’s dick against the fabric. It must have been maddening.

“Touch it.” He ordered, leaning further against the windowsill. Like that, Arthur was cut off from any lightsource and all he could see was the shaft before him. He gripped it, tumb caressing the head. It was hardening, but still too soft for his liking. He tried to lick the head, but Meriwether angled his hips away. Arthur couldn’t glare because he did ask to be ordered around and Meriwether hadn’t requested licking yet. It was somewhat thrilling, this play.

“What shall I do then?” he asked, hand stilling momentarily.

“Trace my veins.” Meriwether told him “I noticed how your thumb seemed to give them special attention earlier. Do it again.”

Arthur complied. He _had_ thought them fascinating and he’d like to run his tongue across them very soon. He looked up to see Meriwether calmly smoking. Keeping his thumb light on the sensitive skin, he tried to twist at the base to see if that would be breaking the rules. Meriwether did not react but that also meant encouragement for Arthur to break that placidness. He could not use his mouth, but he could tease him by being slow in his strokes. Meriwether could only take so much. The next order was that he should lick them – gently.

Arthur almost replied that he wasn’t barbaric; of course he’d do it gently. But he really didn’t want his licking privileges to be taken away. He enjoyed mapping Meriwether’s cock with little laps that he kept directing higher and higher. By the time he reached the head again Meriwether was fully hard and already seeping. Looking purposefully upwards, he fit the tip inside his mouth, gauging Meriwether’s reaction.

“Such a wicked mouth you have.” Meriwether mused between puffs. The cigarette was nearly gone. “Doesn’t quite fit your Havisham nose.”

Arthur would have liked to make some witty reply but he’d rather keep sucking Meriwether off.

“I bet it wasn’t like this with your schoolboys.” Meriwether continued, putting out the cigarette on the window frame. Arthur noticed with some satisfaction that his voice had gotten lower. Sinking further down Meriwether’s cock, he set to make it deeper. He rolled his tongue, hollowed his cheeks but whatever he did he could not get any further. This displeased him deeply. It wasn’t like his classmates at all.

Using his hands to cover the rest of Meriwether he could not – currently, because that was a challenge for a next time – encompass, Arthur nearly choked when the man above him grabbed him by the curls. He looked up, startled, and nearly jumped when Meriwether pulled his head back. His shaft slipped from Arthur’s mouth, creating a single line of spit visible even in the darkness. A beat of silence in which Arthur tried to regain the power of speech to ask Meriwether what he’d done wrong, if he’d like anything else, and then Meriwether slipped back in. Arthur would have sputtered if his mouth hadn’t been so full, but Meriwether was calculating in his motions. He wasn’t forceful, just gently sunk further down Arthur’s mouth inch by inch until Arthur could no more. Then he started rocking his hips, setting a paced rhythm that allowed Arthur to breathe and properly enjoy what he was doing. Meriwether held him by the back of the head, curls knotted in the hand that secured him to one place. He was certainly taking more than he had by himself. He was sure his jaw would ache tomorrow. It was glorious.

He could take more and more with each thrust and by the time Meriwether came down his throat he was sweating and his thighs were shaking from supporting his entire body.

Meriwether pulled out, cock wet and still pulsing, and knelt down in front of Arthur. He let out a shaky laugh, hand caressing Arthur’s cheek. His hand felt cold in Arthur’s burning skin. They kissed. Arthur was half-hard but mentally numb. He wondered if every time he and Meriwether were to have sex he’d be left senseless afterwards.

“You’re amazing.” Meriwether told him, nipping his lips. “And so kissable.”

“Please. Kiss me.” Arthur breathed out. Meriwether grinned and did just that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that and the sex wasn't too much. They do talk at some point!


	6. a slightly pink chai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur and Amelia talk and Arthur makes a request.

Amelia settled onto her chair. Arthur was running a bit late so she asked one for Arthur too, since he knew his invariable favourite for an afternoon without school. They had agreed to meet on a week day since Arthur had chosen to spend yet another weekend studying at school. He had never been this hardworking before. It only showed the healthy influence exerted by Meriwether, the one topic of conversation Arthur kept coming back to during their phonecalls. She wondered if Meriwether rewarded Arthur with nice long walks, maybe a kiss or two, always accompanied by remarking how good it was to study and make a future for oneself. At least that’s how she pictured their dates. Not that she spent too much time doing that, only Honoria’s written description of their first date – and wasn’t it a coincidence that her best friend should observe such an event? – had been sweet. Meriwether’s speech told her of a great gentleman who could tease _and_ be polite at the same time. That was surely a note-worthy skill. Her brother, she could recognize because she loved him so, was a fragile soul. He needed someone to nurture his good qualities and confidence. Someone who could praise but keep him on his toes, someone who did not look down to him. If Meriwether Compeyson was half of what he seemed to be through Athur’s tales and Honoria’s writing, he’d be the perfect fit indeed.

Arthur arrived fifteen minutes late with a flurry of movement, messenger bag flapping behind, hair in disarray and school uniform looking very creased. He was otherwise glowing, grin infectious with barely restrained giddiness. He looked like the sun.

“Hello, dear sister.” He greeted, taking his seat across from her. He did not kiss her, having grown out of that habit many years ago. She rather missed it.

“Hello, darling brother. You seem very happy.” She quipped.

“Oh, but I have so many reasons!” he exclaimed, straining to keep a straight face.

“You were never this excited about extra study!” she said “I mean, I don’t understand much about English Literature but it never made you look like this.”

Arthur made a confused face. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

“Arthur, last time you phoned me – last Friday, I believe – you said you were improving your vocabulary through the reading of a nineteenth century essay on the fingering of the violoncello and on the…ah, conduct of the bow. Which was a bit weird since you don’t play any musical instrument.”

Arthur froze. “Ah, that.” His eyes shifted along the table, apparently inspecting the nodules and the scratches “Yes, it’s coming along nicely.”

He bit his lip and smiled.

“You’re lying again, aren’t you?”

Arthur let out a small squeal and leaned forward, hands flattened on the tabletop. He looked devilishly pleased.

“Well, at least you’re not denying it.” Amelia asserted. The waiter arrived at their table and handed them both their drinks. Amelia picked her chai. It was slightly pink. She couldn’t help giving a small smile to the excited sound Arthur let out once again.

“Pineapple smoothie!” he exclaimed, taking an immediate sip. “Oh Amelia, how I love thee.”

She huffed. Of course that’d be the reason she’d hear it from him. That, however, gave her an advantage. “You owe me a truth now.”

“You mean I owe you some amount of prying into my life.” Arthur retorted without bite.

“I could always take the pineapple from you.” She teased.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Maybe you are indeed taking extra Drama classes.”

“You know what? I’m going to tell you not because you’re being subtle about it or because I owe it to you, smoothie or no smoothie, but because I am way too happy not to tell anyone about it.”

“You look like you want to shout it to the world, quite honestly.” Amelia replied. Arthur glared.

“I’m not that obvious. Stop teasing me, I get enough of that from Meriwether already.”

Amelia’s eyebrows rose and Arthur flushed. So that was the reason. Of course that was the reason. Why did she think Arthur was hard at work? When would she ever learn?

“Damn, now I don’t get to tell you at all.”

“You can still tell me, silly” she assured him, reaching one hand towards his “I just don’t get to be surprised.”

“It’s, hum…” he giggled “Yeah, I’ve been spending the weekend at his flat.”

Amelia blushed. Her little brother…On another man’s house! Sleeping on his bed, doing things she really shouldn’t think about for the sake of her moral and sisterly integrity. It was hard not to, though, and Arthur registered the exact moment she failed to keep the image away.

“N-Not like that!” he exclaimed “I mean, yes like that, but stop. It has no business with you!”

He had gotten redder with each word and Amelia felt a secret pleasure in watching her brother squirm like that. It had been a long time since she had seen him so reactive. He got easily riled up. It used to be about the pronunciation of certain words which neither of them was familiar with, a conflict often resolved by the divine intervention of Jaggers, their father’s associate and an honorary uncle to the two younger Havishams. They had been at the time immensely impressed with his vocabulary and Arthur even more with how shiny his buttons were. Taking into account their age difference, Amelia never did mock him about that. She could, however, mock her brother about his boyfriend. That was a word she was certain Jaggers would struggle with!

“Arthur…Have you had special relations with Mr Compeyson?”

Her brother made an horrified face. Then he tried to answer. And then he looked horrified again.

“That was the worst sentence I have ever had the misfortune of hearing you say.”

Amelia took a sip of her chai, testing the temperature. It was fine.

“My sentence was perfectly fine.” She stated, warming her hands on the cup. “You just took it the wrong way. I simply asked if what you have with Mr Compeyson is something of a…special nature.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you mean? Are you asking if we’re dating?”

“Yes,” Amelia replied, “and no.” Arthur frowned, clearly out of depth.

“I mean, it’s obvious you two are dating. You went on an actual date and you’ve apparently been a guest on his house for several weekends now. Three at least, if I am correct.” Arthur nodded “Well, I’m simply saying asking if this is something beyond dating.”

“I’m still not understanding the meaning of the sentence.”

“Its meaning is…” Amelia clicked her tongue, trying to gather the words. Her bother, though intelligent, was not emotionally gifted towards the subtleties of romance. He was emotional, but couldn’t process those emotions. Maybe he was too young, perhaps not mature enough. He didn’t understand what people meant by dating. He didn’t know dating could have many, many forms. That it didn’t mean romantic attachment at all. That it could be physical, or not physical at all. She wasn’t sure she could explain it to him. He was a lover of academic words and she was a master of numbers. What language did they share to speak of love?

“Do you love him?” she asked, instead. It was bold, and Arthur’s reaction told her he was shocked by it. It wasn’t very upper class, she guessed. Not very Havisham.

“I don’t know.” He admitted, looking into his glass. “I have never fallen in love. How do I know if it’s that?”

He sounded genuinely curious. She didn’t reply that she had never fallen in love either. She had had sex in university, sometimes with Honoria. What she felt for her was love, but she wasn’t in love. The constant essence of their relationship didn’t feel like what the stories described or what the movies depicted. She did not swoon. She didn’t feel her stomach turn or her heart beat faster. She had once listed all those symptoms, as if trying to achieve an imaginary disease, but found herself healthy and hale. She wanted to share in her experience with her brother, as she had when they had been younger and unknowledgeable about the world but realized they still were like that and, for once, she didn’t hold the answers. Honoria would be better at it. Honoria that spoke of James and her eyes lit up with indecipherable longing, missing him and loving him as if the feeling was the same. Maybe it was, and love was only recognized in its absence. Maybe it wasn’t, and she was stunted in its recognition.

She simply shrugged, a stall with her own thoughts. “I don’t know, Arthur. That is something you have to answer yourself.”

Her brother nodded, looking pensive. Or as much as could look pensive whilst sucking on a straw.

“I know this, though…“ Amelia started again, blowing on her tea even though she had already drunk half of it and the temperature was perfect. “If you do decide to love him, make sure he loves your back.”

The sucking sound stopped and Arthur looked at her, straw still dangling from his lips. His glass was nearly empty. The noise in the café had died down as tea time rush hour ended. The usual patrons remained, some students and the kind of people that drank coffee on the go, like businessmen and women and nurses between shifts. St. Mary’s Hospital was only two streets away and doctors and interns alike usually came for a caffeine fix.

“I don’t think he likes me that way.” He replied, voice lower than the initial excitement in the conversation. “I won’t dare to think that.” He corrected. She heard the unspoken ‘I don’t want to get my hopes up’ anyway.

“I really like him, though.” Arthur admitted with a small smile. “No-one ever treats me like he does. He likes walks by the Thames and strolling around parks. He listens to me when I speak of obscure eighteenth century philosophers or the latest play in the National Theatre. I told him about school and he doesn’t mock me for it, even if I must sound juvenile at best. He laughs with me and not at my expense.” He sighed “He even binge-watched Eastenders with me last Saturday. All the episodes from that week! Can you imagine that, Amelia?”

Amelia whistled, or tried to. She wasn’t very good. “That is some serious commitment! I didn’t know you liked Eastenders, though.”

“I, erm, watch the episodes every Saturday. I don’t think anyone knows apart from Meriwether. And now you, I guess. The point is, he knows so much of me already and still…he stays. He doesn’t mind that I am awkward or a nerd without friends. He knows all that that and stays!”

Amelia frowned. “Arthur, you have friends. You have me, and Pocket, and Honoria, and that other boy from your school. I don’t really know his name, but he’s your friend. Right?”

Arthur sighed again. “Of course. But what if I want something more? You have Honoria and your work, Honoria has that soldier of hers, Peter has his girlfriend too. Pocket has basically anyone because he’s a social god. Amelia, what do I have?”

Amelia opened her mouth to contest, but Arthur didn’t gave her any time before answering himself. “I have my books, my classes and my bed. I have good grades and I don’t create too much of a hassle. I don’t really bother anyone, I just exist. I am simply there. Arthur Havisham: furniture extraordinaire.”

That was outrageously not true, and she told him so. How could he think for a minute that he wasn’t needed or loved, that he was less than the people he named among his friends? She didn’t tell him that she didn’t know that was how he felt. How could she, a little voice spoke in her head. She was his family and didn’t question when he spent entire weekends away. She didn’t even try to gauge how he was doing at school, how he was doing with his friends. She had no idea he was so unpopular, or so disregarded. She had no idea until now how negligent she had been in her duties as an older sister.

“Arthur, you’re not defined by your books or your grade. You know we love you, right?” she asked. She didn’t want to think about that ‘we’, if that included their father or just her and Honoria. There were some things that she, even as a big sister and the oldest daughter, could not consider. She felt a coward about that most of the time, when their father spoke derisively about her brother, or when he dismissed his presence at important events. She often contested him, stating that even if he didn’t work for the brewery, he still deserved to be included in their family achievements. It felt like he had been cut out from the family for a crime he did not commit and she had never done anything about it.

“Meriwether makes me feel loved.” He finally replied. “He makes me feel like I am not my things. We laugh, yes we have sex, we kiss, we walk. We do lots of things that haven’t got to do with school or my name. I like that very much about him. He doesn’t make me feel like Arthur Havisham. Just Arthur.”

She understood the implications of the Havisham name: wealth, position and standards. As the heiress, she understood she benefitted from all. She also understood that was not the case with her brother. Their father’s negligence of his only son was well-known to all staff. Mary was more aware than most, having been brought up in the house and being in the middle point between Arthur and Amelia in age. As much as she was distant in her relationship to all Havishams, she had registered all the major events of the household in their lives: Arthur’s birth, his mother’s death, her graduation, all the galas they prepared for, the annual party they held at New Year’s…All the chronological significations of their family. Their butler had spent even more time in their service, but Amelia knew he did not care for the youngest of the Havishams.

“I’m glad.” She finally replied, voice a bit shaken “If he makes you feel that, I am glad. I wish I could someday talk to him.”

“You’re not going to do the shovel talk, right?”

“No, I really don’t want to.” Amelia found herself saying, unsure why she trusted Arthur’s word so much. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, which she had missed from their childhood.

“Well, thank you for that. He is strong, but not as strong as you.” Arthur informed her, looking vaguely terrified. She laughed lightly and finished her drink.

“Sister?” Arthur tentatively asked.

“Yes?”

“I do have a request. An idea, if you will.”

“Do tell.”

“Meriwether and I had dinner on the Shard last Friday. It was beautiful, you should have seen the lights on London’s skyline! I could see Westminster and the Parliament. Everything from Central London to some skycrapers in the West. I love London so much. I had never realized it until now, but I do. Much as I dislike that school and don’t feel at home at Satis House, I feel like London is part of me.” He looked at her “Do you know what I mean?”

She didn’t. She had grown up in that house much as Arthur did, but her impression was far more favourable. Satis House was part of her line and blood. Her father had been mother and father during her early childhood as she had lost her mother during childbirth. They lived just the two of them until Arthur was born and his mother became Mrs Havisham. Then his mother died. Throughout the small revolutions of human life, Satis House remained the same. The one fixed point in Amelia’s life. How it must feel stifling to Arthur!

Amelia nodded and her brother gave her a small smile. “Meriwether’s like that too, you know? He doesn’t have a home. His parents died when he was very young and he went from foster home to foster home until he was eighteen.” He sighed “He thinks I am happy in Satis House. He wonders what it’s like to have that sort of reference in your life, to actually have a home. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it doesn’t feel like that because I’m not welcome there.”

“Apart from me, of course.” Amelia interjected. Arthur nodded.

“So I was thinking I could show him the house. Not what it’s like for me, of course, but let him appreciate the interior. He seemed very impressed on his last visit. He could have another one.”

Amelia hummed. Of course he had been impressed; Satis House was a hallmark in the history of the city! Just in 1940 it had sheltered three of the wealthiest families in London when the bombs started dropping from above. All three patriarchs were deeply shaken but alive and the head of the family at the time, Joseph Havisham, had famously stated that ‘the Havisham beer will knock you down after a pack, but it takes an army to take Satis House down’. She was pretty certain there had been a marketing campaign at some point.

“What kind of visit are you considering, Arthur? A morning, a day?”

Arthur flushed. “I was thinking along the lines of a weekend.”

Amelia’s eyebrows rose. Well, that was a bit of a challenge. “Father…”

Arthur sighed. “I know, I know. I was thinking that maybe there could be one weekend he was away and I could surprise Meriwether with an invitation!”

“That would certainly be a surprise for Father if he happened to come home earlier.”  She wasn’t thinking of when they should do it because she already had a date in mind, but if they actually should. She had only met the man once and he had seemed amiable enough. More than enough, actually, and with a charming speech to boot. She did not feel at ease to bring someone to Satis House without their father’s permission, though. She felt divided and Arthur noticed that, starting to mutter ‘you don’t really have to if it’s too much work’ and ‘it was just an idea’ and ‘it’s alright, it was a long shot anyway’. He looked so dejected she really had no other choice.

“Alright.”

Arthur abruptly looked up from his shoes. His eyes were very wide. He really had not thought his request would work. “Alright?”

“Alright,” she asserted, “Father will be gone for the weekend. He has a conference in Seoul and will only return next Tuesday.’

Arthur beamed at her. He truly had never looked so jubilant. A flash of euphoria seemed to cross him as he suddenly got up from his seat and gave her three kisses, one on each cheek and a last one to the forehead. Just like they did when they had been children. She was stunned as soon as his lips touched her. Arthur did not notice it and said his goodbyes in a hurricane of movement and shuffling, nearly hitting himself with the messenger bag and forgetting his jacket.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you sister! Now I have to catch the tube and get to school before the Bumbles remember to apply the curfew! “ he stopped mid-breath, looking at her. His mouth sloped upwards with an ever-growing smile. “Thank you.”

Then he was gone and left Amelia with an empty cup of tea still cradled in her hands. She felt like crying with joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an actual essay with that actual title. I kid you not: https://archive.org/details/essayonfingering00dupo  
> And yes, that is indeed a sex pun.


	7. a pink fuzzy robe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Honoria realizes many things during Meriwether's stay at Satis House.

Honoria sunk deeper into the comforter, relishing in the soft constitution of the fabric. She felt her calves aching from so much time spent on her feet back at the tailor. The work was easily done, but she spent a lot of time behind the counter. She shut down her laptop just as Amelia finished signing the last document. With Mr Havisham gone for the weekend, all of the company’s bureaucracy fell to her and Jaggers. Seeing as not even Jaggers could sign certain documents for the inconveniences of his last name, the task befell Amelia. ‘Trust no-one with business that you wouldn’t call family’, he’d say. Her friend should sign them in the study and not, as her father often reprimanded, bring them to the bedroom. ‘Business has no place in the bedroom, my dear’ was another saying of his, one that usually preceded a tangent about how his great-grandfather had once signed a deal lying on his bed and his wife forbade him to enter their room for a week.

It was nearly midnight and most of the paper had transitioned from one pile to the other. On the top left corner of the tiny desk rested Amelia’s sleek pencil case, which seemed to have a pen for every opportunity. On the far right lay a chronometer that Honoria had dissuaded her from using, fearing that her friend would go mad if she started timing her reading of legal documents. She had once tried to use it to improve her productivity and it had been a bad choice for everyone’s nerves. Honoria definitely did not need a repetition of that.

“Done.” Amelia declared, sounding like a forty year-old businesswoman and not a twenty-four year-old college graduate.

Honoria sighed. “Are you sure? Aren’t those three thesis on the left something to be taken care of ‘as soon as possible’?”

“These,” Amelia started, smile lending a certain tilt of mischief to her voice, “are not thesis but very detailed contracts Jaggers had the ‘kindness of sending forward so you can read it whenever you can of course but would greatly improve next month’s business if you could get them out of the way and inform your father’. So that means he is afraid to show them himself and wants me to deliver the bad news.”

Honoria smiled. “I thought the Havishams didn’t do bad news.”

“No, they don’t.” Amelia informed her, getting up from the chair and stretching. “That’s why we have Jaggers. But apparently not even Jaggers can prevent people from suggesting idiotic deals with my father.” She shrugged “I guess I’ll have to write a polite refusal.”

“Polite, but firm.” Honoria added, much to Amelia’s pleasure. She turned her desk light off and the room was reduced to the ambience of the lamp between their beds. Under the ambar light, Amelia’s dark curls looked warmer, softer. She reached out, eager to touch her since Amelia had taken a break earlier to make a quick review of what Honoria had written so far about Arthur and his gentleman. They had cackled and giggled and felt the strain of Amelia’s work load acutely when they parted to continue their tasks. Now they were both free.

Amelia turned to her, smile soft. Her robe was slightly fuzzy with age as she had never quite managed to transition to another one. She had had this pink robe for as long as she knew Honoria. Their lives had been aligned ever since the last year of school, though they had met for far, far longer. Honoria remembered a pink-cheeked girl from her childhood, living just across the street. They had played as kids, had tea parties and book readings and quite often climbed the walls to each other’s house, much to their parents’ chagrin. They were a rebellious duo until adolescence, when things started to go wrong with the Barbarys. Her mother’s illness had been hard for all of them and in the end it turned her father astray. He just kept making the wrong deals and cutting ties with the wrong people, the Havishams included. Suddenly across the street was just as bad as across London and Honoria did not dare to speak to Amelia, ashamed of her father’s actions.

Her father’s bankruptcy story had been dissected in the newspapers viciously and she started her A-levels feeling bleak and worthless. She still had the money she had saved herself to finish that stage in her life and try to get a new start, which hadn’t gone well, especially with Frances. She had felt guilty and ready to give up, to maybe get a job and forget about her studies. When Amelia had found her in the girl’s bathroom, crying over a thorn seam on her skirt of all things, she must have looked desperate and pitiful. She remembered not thinking it mattered when Amelia reached out her hand and told her she could make things work out. Looking at her, so tired after the hours reading bureaucracy and tending to minor business matters, Honoria still felt under her glow. Amelia was still the helping angel, the caring friend. She had paid her tuition, took her in when she ran away from home to escape her sister’s insidious means of influence. She had been a ray of light in truly difficult times, a bubble of laughter when she had cried out a river of sorrow.

Amelia had asked for no repayment, still didn’t. They had had their diplomas and A-levels, their applications sent. Honoria knew she would be refused just as Amelia knew she would be accepted. If not by merit alone, her name would assure it. Honoria couldn’t get a recommendation letter, having refused Amelia’s help in that matter. There were things she could not accept, and her only wish was to finish school. She felt so blessed already.

“You have that look on your face again.” Amelia stated, humming slightly. She removed her robe in what could be called a very seductive manner. Honoria certainly did.

“What look?” she asked, containing a laugh as she spotted the fluffy, purple pajamas underneath the robe.

“That look of adoration.” She teased, sitting on the mattress by Honoria’s side.

“Well, I do adore you.”

“That’s good.” Amelia smiled, turning to lie on her side. Her eyes were dark without the glint of the lamp. Honoria could not quip back.

“I do wonder why you’re saying that now though.” Amelia continued “Is it because of Arthur?”

Honoria huffed. “I guess. They look very romantic.”

Amelia lifted her hand to Honoria’s cheek. A bloom spread, chasing after her touch. The smell of lavender reached her with every shift. Touches like these were the reason Honoria stood that much straighter during work, recalling the after-images of Amelia and their bedroom. They were the reason she kept writing. She never showed Amelia the scrawls on her diary or the words written on napkins during break. She never told her the times she accidently wrote her name instead of the costumer’s, or how every scratch of pen against paper seemed to shout her secret. She thought every word of hers was a declaration of intent, but Amelia seemed blissfully unaware. Honoria was partly glad, for all that it made her chest ache with unspeakable discontent over the current state of affairs. Amelia would think it was about Honoria feeling indebted. She’d think it was because they shared a bed once every now and then. That it was because she had asked Honoria to come live with her. She’d think it was really longing for James.

Amelia could sometimes be so wrong.

Honoria leaned forward and kissed her cheek. A touch for a touch, and just one was simply maddening.

“You seem very romantic yourself.” Amelia replied, thumb grazing the hair behind Honoria’s ear. It was very soothing.

“Thankfully, I do not reach their level. I don’t do your bidding in exchange of kisses.”

Amelia hummed. “Well, maybe Arthur’s onto something after all.” She confessed, meeting Honoria’s lips. Honoria smiled against the kiss, eyes shuttering. Meriwether had not closed his eyes on his first kiss. What kind of person did not close their eyes when kissing their beloved?

She reluctantly drew back. Amelia frowned, mouth slightly open and still wet.

“What’s wrong?”

Honoria hesitated, hand sliding down to Amelia’s jaw. “Don’t you find it a bit strange that a man like Meriwether is interested in a boy like Arthur?”

Amelia blinked, clearly not expecting that direction in the conversation.

“What do you mean? We hardly know what Meriwether’s like to compare him to Arthur.” Amelia replied, now resting on her elbow. Even in the relative darkness of the bedroom Honoria could place the curious glint on her eyes.

“That’s exactly the issue.” Honoria told her, also rising to her elbows and trying to meet her eyes. “We don’t know who he is and somehow he’s found his way into Satis House not even two months after meeting Arthur.”

“I don’t think he’s the one that asked to be brought here.” Amelia retorted “I honestly think Arthur’s the one that had the idea. He might be trying to show off.”

Honoria nodded. “Hence the asking for the keys to go out and giving him a tour of the main rooms. That I can understand.” She paused, weighting her next words “But how do you know the idea’s really his and not Meriwether’s?”

Amelia turned on her back, chest facing the ceiling. She sighed. “I don’t.”

Honoria took that as encouragement to speak further. “Meriwether seemed very…forward in his visit. Intent. He was clearly enjoying himself when you told him the story of the House, but his eyes kept browsing. There is no other word for it. He was browsing the rooms and looking for something.”

Amelia scoffed. “Nonsense. He was probably just overwhelmed by the Victorian furniture. It is quite priceless. And probably judging just how flammable it was.” She laughed to herself “He is an insurance consultant, you know? Apparently works for several companies and over different types of insurance. Looking at the details must be a habit.”

“You’re probably right.” Honoria conceded, clicking her tongue “Still, that leaves yet another major issue that I don’t think you’ve considered before.”

Amelia turned her head, hand coming to rest on her stomach. “And what would that issue be? I must tell you that after reading those reports, ‘major issues’ are not by absolute favourite thing in the world.”

Honoria allowed a smile at that. Amelia managed to make standard paperwork sound exciting.

“Their age.”

Her friend raised her eyebrows. It really seemed she had not thought of that.

“Arthur’s six years younger than Meriwether, from what you’re told me. Amelia, what is a grown man with a job doing with a teenager?”

“You make it sound so illegal.” Amelia stated, trying very hard to make a joke of it and failing. Her hand clenched on the fabric of her pajamas, teeth biting into her bottom lip. Honoria suddenly realized that if there was indeed something wrong with Meriwether, Arthur may have been the one asking him to come to Satis House but Amelia had been the one that arranged for that to happen. She regretted saying anything in the first place. Arthur was definitely not worth the concern of his sister as he clearly had no qualms in putting her in a compromising situation.

Besides, Honoria might be reading too much into the details, imagining things. She had a vivid imagination; her own sister had told her so as an offense to her own serious constitution. She had never fabricated facts before, though, and certain things stuck out to her as inconspicuous. Things like Meriwether’s language. He never seemed to drop the proper use of grammar, which was something that could be expected from a natural public speaker, but the words he knew and the way he employed them were a clear projection. Even Amelia used bad grammar on a daily basis and she had gone to the best schools in England. Even Arthur did not used ‘rather’ or ‘marvellous’ on a regular basis and he was as posh as one could be in twenty-first century London.

Then there was his clothing style. There was no way an insurance consultant wore that kind of shoes, especially not for a date. The kiss was yet another hint replayed repeatedly on Honoria’s head. The way he seemed to have the Havishams wrapped around his little finger, with Amelia bringing out the best silver and Arthur trailing behind him like a lost puppy was another major red flag. The Havishams _never_ tried to please. Amelia’s only exception was Arthur. This was, of course, unprecedented for Arthur himself as the one thing that characterized him was a continuing selfishness and pursuit of self-interest. He had never tried to please his sister and his weekend stays at Satis House were usually spent out in the streets until the unspoken curfew at 7PM, the one all three shared. He’d also hide in his bedroom, reading or watching something on the computer, never paying too much attention to his sister or father. He had never tried to please anyone like he clearly did Meriwether. He had never cared about pleasing another person and what Amelia had told her about their coffee meeting that same week spoke to her of a deeply ingrained _need_ to do so. No-one could change that fast in two months. No, the cause and consequence was Meriwether Compeyson. Of that she was certain.

It had been six hours since the happy couple had arrived and all she heard since had been his name. The boyfriend himself had been abundant on his compliments to both Amelia and the family’s house, sparing a mention or two about Arthur’s memories, either recalled from a ‘conversation by the Thames’ or on a ‘café’. He detailed in an eloquent but, above all, efficient manner those dates. They all served to prove a point, as she doubted Meriwether could ramble. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover that half of those ‘cafés’ were actually bars. Another worrying hint that Amelia had not noticed but Honoria definitely had was how Arthur seemed to be more comfortable with drinks. Her brother had even requested some brandy for Meriwether and himself, and Honoria had never seen Arthur drink hard liquor before.

By her side, Amelia started to twist the fabric under her fingers. Honoria covered her hands.

“I think I might be reading too many crime novels.” She assured her “Let’s just make out.”

Amelia gave a faint laugh, a twisted thing that reminded her of Arthur. That really wouldn’t do. Honoria ducked her head, kissing it away until it became a moan. She nipped her lip and the moan deepened, making Honoria’s skin tingle where Amelia had started to touch her. As her hand caressed her torso, finding the fall and rise of Amelia on the curve of her chest, a longer, drawn-out groan was heard. She stopped.

“Amelia?” she started before being interrupted by another moan. They looked at each other. It came from above.

Honoria looked up, as if the chandelier held any answers. Turned off as it was, not even light fell upon them. The groan was heard again, and Honoria definitely recognized Meriwether’s name.

“Oh my god.” She found herself saying. Amelia started to laugh. The noise only grew louder, now accompanied by the creak of wood and what she could picture as being the movement of the bedframe on the floor. Victorian walls – and floors – were surely paper-thin.

“What the…Is your brother dying or something?”

Amelia’s laughter had turned hysterical. She was pretty sure the men above could hear it, though it did not seem to deter them. Honoria covered her ears.

“Amelia, I don’t want to hear your brother having sex!”

Amelia smiled mischievously at Honoria’s mortification. “Well, then.” She stated “We just have to be louder.”

That was a challenge Honoria could accept.

 

* * *

 

The best time for one to read on Satis House was during Saturday afternoon. The library, richly furnished with early nineteenth century armchairs and small writing desks that Honoria felt a deep delight writing in, was the epitome of comfort, an opinion that unfortunately was not shared by the Havishams themselves. Mostly referred to as an unpractical room for actual business because of the diminutive dimension of the divisions and its furniture, Honoria made the best of their reluctance by declaring the space symbolically and temporarily hers. Saturday mornings were best used for writing exercises as the library contained a narrow yet strategically-placed window that allowed the sunrise to appear just beyond the start of the street that culminated in the Havisham home. The buildings built on either side didn’t have much luck with lighting, but Satis House was advantageously built to take in the sun on its best angles. Around six in the morning – and sometimes she got up earlier, due to insomnia or a special brand of masochism – the sun rose on the start of the street, hitting the window frame with a glorious incidence that lit all the papers on fire and made the gilded bindings glint off the dusty gold. Around six in the evening, having already made its route above the house, the sun set on the other side of the house, where Amelia’s and Arthur’s bedroom faced another street. She had gone up to the attic several times with Amelia and watched the sunset painting the most wonderful colours on the buildings beyond. They had found a white dress once, one Amelia swore must have belonged to her nineteenth century’s namesake. Honoria was inclined to agree since the dress was too similar to the one that featured in her portrait.

Now, as she wrote in a corner of the library trying to get as many words as possible but blocking with each sentences on paper, she struggled to see what she wrote. The sun was nearly setting and it made it difficult for her to continue on that dark room. Due to laziness and the reluctance to leave the comfort of a corner armchair and the blanket over her form, she stayed in that same spot. Her current story – a mixture of café observations and surreal themes that drank directly from Carmilla – was giving her an headache.

The sound of the door slowly opening startled her. Amelia was out. Would Mary want anything from her? She tried to move from underneath the blanket, or to call out, but froze when she noticed who it was that had entered.

Meriwether.

She frowned. They had shown him the library just the day before. What could he possibly want? He seemed to be alone, no lost puppy behind. Not even Amelia trying to show him the rarest volumes. She shrunk under the blanket, knowing perfectly how ridiculous she must look. Somehow her brain had decided that not being found was fundamental.

Meriwether looked around and she nearly gasped when he ran his eyes across the second room of the library and did not spot her. His gaze was determined, different from the adoring look he had doted on Arthur the previous day. They had gone jogging earlier that afternoon by Meriwether’s insistence and must have just returned because Meriwether was still sweaty and wearing his running gear. She shivered, unsure to whether blame it on the cold they surely must have gone through or the reason that made Meriwether come to the library. His look certainly meant no good news and after he felt satisfied with his general scan, he turned his attention to a shelf placed directly on the left of the window.

Having his back turned like that, Honoria was certain that he had not noticed her at all. She craned her neck, trying to gauge which shelf it was that had caught his attention. Most of the content on the library was at least half a century old, but there was a sort of archive that she had once stumbled onto, containing duplicates of closed deals and transactions that Mr Havisham thought wise to keep. The originals usually went to Jaggers.

She was aware of the responsibility she had as a temporary Havisham and that she should stop Meriwether from violating the privacy of Satis House. However, the combination of a growing curiosity with this strange man and the need to contradict her own doubts, assuaged by Amelia the previous night, held her back. She wanted to see what it was that he was looking.

It didn’t take long for him to find it. Being utterly silent for the duration of his investigation, she was surprised by the sudden exclamation and the quick turn that made him face Honoria again, still oblivious to the other presence in the room. He was clearly pleased with what he held in his hands – a relatively thin folder, which he opened and closed just quickly – a smile playing as he turned again and re-arranged the bookshelf.

He left with another summary look of his surroundings, which thankfully did not include the other room. Honoria lingered, her heart beating fast and stomach tying into a notch. What did he take? It had clearly been something from the business section. She got up and checked the shelf Meriwether had inspected. All Havisham brewery contracts, as the financial registry occupied another shelf. Whatever could he gain from that? He was an insurance consultant, she recalled. As that theft had not been either innocent or allowed, or else Amelia would have accompanied him, could he be doing business with a rival company? Would he try to sell the contracts to others? To what purpose? All these questions were making her head hurt and the mystery of Meriwether only seemed to increase. She was doubly conflicted. On one hand, she wanted to convince herself that she was exaggerating things, and that Meriwether had indeed sought the folder under orders from a Havisham. On the other hand, she wanted to make last night’s mitigations true. For all that she despised Arthur on a logical basis, she desired her instincts to become null. She had felt something was wrong from their first date and now she had the circumstantial proof.

She checked the folders. It was hard to figure out which one he had taken without an index. Due to the little importance given to this archive, there could be none. With all the papers safely at Jaggers, Mr Havisham might not keep up the records. She could say there was something missing and have no proof to show, no irregularities to declare. She wished Amelia was there with her. She did not know what to do. Only yesterday she had told her friend there was certainly nothing to be worried about. How eager Amelia had been in believing the one assurance after all the instinctual suspicions Honoria had listed! How ready to discard the worse and nurture the best!

When she exited the library, certain of the futility of trying to write again, the clock announced seven o’clock. As she turned to close the door behind her, she noticed two figures down the hallway. Arthur and his boyfriend. Just her luck.

She froze, hoping to go unnoticed again. Two times in a single day proved to be too much and she cursed as Arthur chose her side of the corridor, Meriwether following closely behind him. After two doors, they looked up from their chatter and spotted her. Both were clean now, Meriwether’s hair still damp from the shower. He had probably gone to the library whilst Arthur was washing up.

“Hello.” She greeted. Her voice was dry from lack of use. She sounded terrible.

Meriwether looked at her and for a brief, glorious moment, she could see he was surprised. He hadn’t noticed her at all. The perks of being invisible.

Then he tilted his head, mouth tilting slightly in a smile. She found she had trouble drawing the next breath.

“Hello, Honoria.” Arthur quipped between them. She nodded, afraid to let out a sound, and walked past them. She needed to lie down before dinner. She must have appeared rude, but Arthur was used to it. Meriwether seemed to expect it, standing aside and giving her a slight bow.

“I’m afraid I need to go to bed. I’m feeling a bit tired.” She croaked in retaliation. Every word spoken was a secret untold. Arthur said something but she did not register it, trying to avert her eyes from Meriwether.

“I think Honoria might feel better with a shower, Arthur. It does wonders for introspection.” he recommended. Honoria kept walking, deeply offended by the presumption. She did not answer.

 

* * *

 

It was Sunday. It was finally the last day of that wicked weekend.

She had not gone down for dinner the previous night, reluctant in being in the same room with Meriwether. She still did not know what to do and could only proceed with caution due to the delicate nature of the matter. The papers were probably useless, but then why take them?

She kept coming back to this question during the previous night. Even Amelia noticed she was acting strangely, skipping dinner notwithstanding. When questioned, she simply said she was feeling peaky and Amelia did not question her further. She did not have a wink of sleep, knowing instinctively she would regret it at work the next day.

Hungry because she had just eaten a pack of crackers the previous night, she pattered down the stairs towards the kitchen for breakfast. It was relatively early in the morning and thus she had only seen Mary preparing for the day. She had briefly mentioned what lunch would be, but Honoria had promptly forgotten. The kitchen, of course, was not empty.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr Compeyson.”

The man smiled and she felt like punching him. “Please. Call me Meriwether.”

She nodded, averting her eyes and setting to make her tea boil. She found a steaming cup already on the counter.

“I accidentally made too much.” he informed her. Honoria thanked him without turning around, grabbing the cup and feeling the momentary relief of the heat seeping into her skin.

“I heard you were unwell last night.”

“Just an indisposition.” She informed him, inhaling deeply and finally turning. “Nothing serious.”

Meriwether looked different. His usual smile was still present, but it seemed heavier with meaning. Mocking, that’s what it looked like. She leaned against the counter, trying to stand her ground. His gaze was serious, extremely sharp as he watched her every shift. She realized he was trying to read her, to gauge her reactions.

“That’s really too bad. Dinner was a delicacy.”

She tried to smile, but it probably came out as a grimace. The man knew she knew. Why was he wasting time with small talk? Why didn’t he mention the papers? Was he by any chance trying to gauge her interpretation of what had happened? She doubted the talk of her indisposition would reveal something, but she’d never met a match in perception like Meriwether, if his introduction into Satis House was something to consider. She became, during her nightly musings, of certain of plenty of things about Meriwether Compeyson. The first one was that he certainly had been the one to have planted the idea of his visit on Arthur’s head. The second one would be that he was a pathological liar, which related to the third deduction she was absolutely certain of. He wasn’t an insurance consultant at all. The fact that he had deceived even Amelia, who was an expert in legal matters through her work with the company and being half-raised by Jaggers herself, told her, however, that he knew how to speak convincingly of contractual affairs and legalities. She wondered if he was an expert of illegalities too.

“You’re a con man.” She blurted out, surprising even herself.

Meriwether’s smile widened and Honoria felt unease creeping under her skin. That was the only explanation. Why he deceived Arthur, the reason behind the charade with the Havishams. Why it took him only two months to infiltrate the heart of the family.

“You’re thinking of selling the papers to the highest bidder, aren’t you?” she tried, just to make him talk. He had been silent for a while now and even if all he had to say were lies, it was better than leaving her to guess.

“Why would I do that, Honoria?” he asked, stepping towards her. She was trapped, but her curiosity overrode the fear.

“What else could be the reason to keep a façade for two months?”

Meriwether gave a small laugh. “Yes, it’s been two months hasn’t it? I noticed you in our first date. You seemed very intent in making notes.” He said. Honoria felt herself flush with indignation; both because of his proximity and the fact she had honestly thought she had deceived him twice.

“I wonder how romantic they are.” Meriwether stated, eyes boring into hers “Did you make Arthur embarrassed by the sudden attention? Did you write down the way he so easily agreed with what I said and how eager he was to please me? Oh, how he skipped after our kiss, how surely in love he seemed to be! How ready he was to tell everything he could to impress me. Do you know he talked about his sister non-stop, and even about you? You like to write a lot from what I’ve heard. This would make a nice story, wouldn’t it? The boy who fell in love with a con man. How terribly tragic.”

“You’re being so smug.” Honoria spit back “You think I won’t tell them?”

Meriwether inclined his head. His breath on her face made the hairs on her neck creep and her skin crawl. He seemed to ponder his words for a moment, and when he spoke the ghost of a smile echoed in his voice. “I actually think you should. I think you should also tell them of the 25th of May of 2009. Do you remember that?”

He drew back to watch the effect of his words. Her heart skipped a beat only to hammer erratically afterwards. He could not. He should not. She raised her hand to slap him, but was caught. His hand was steady against the tremors of hers, clean as sweat started to make Honoria’s clammy. She wanted to hit him yet, but doubted her strength would be enough.

“Shouldn’t you, Honoria?” he repeated. She hated the sound of her name on his mouth. She felt sick. Her chest was tight and his proximity made it hard to breathe. She pushed him with what little power she had left.

“Fuck you.” She said, trying to muster as much venom into her voice as possible as she held onto the counter for support. “Fuck you.”

Meriwether seemed more amused than offended. He probably got that a lot, if his usual tactics were as repugnant as the intimidation he had just used.

“It’d be the right thing to do, wouldn’t it?” he continued, unruffled. That he’d be in his preys’ kitchen wearing nothing but his pajama pants seemed to do nothing in diminishing his imposing figure.

“The right thing to do would be to free them from your presence. “ she spat out.

Meriwether gave her a cynical smile she wished to slap out of him. “And yet.”

And yet.

They looked at each other for a tense moment and Honoria stormed out of the kitchen, tea forgotten. She noticed he had not replied to her inquiry about the papers and had somehow turned her questions toward her. He was indeed a master con man.

She climbed the stairs, skin pulsing with adrenaline. How did he know about that? Not only was he a con man, but a blackmailer to boot? She felt disgusted with her reaction. Amelia and – for all that she despised his character – Arthur were her family. She could not fail them now. She couldn’t let them go on under such a deception!

A snag on the carpet made her trip. Her legs, though shaky, fortunately held her up and she grabbed the rail. Arthur…just how heartbroken would he be? She ended it with James on a friendly tone, despite all that had happened. They parted with kisses and were not terribly sad for a relationship that had been dwindling. He was still her James, and she was still his Honoria.

What would Arthur have?

If it happened to her, she’d be destroyed. Arthur had let him in and Meriwether repaid that with theft and threats. She swallowed, thinking about the kind of secrets that man was already aware of and if it affected Amelia directly. Hers would damn her before the Havishams. But Arthur’s father did not know his son was gay. His secret would have him in a very bad position.

Wobbling towards the stairs that led to his room, she was aware that the decision she was making would wreck any kind of peace they’d had for the past years, ever since she came to Satis House. She had pondered it during the night and there had been really no solution. Meriwether’s threats made the matter a bit more complicated. She wanted to save herself, but could not do it without injuring Arthur. She was morally obliged to tell him, and that made her keep her path. When she was before his door, she released a sigh and knocked.

Arthur’s voice eventually told her to enter, still a bit muffled from sleep. As she invaded his space, he let out an indignant noise.

“Honoria!” he exclaimed “I thought it was Meriwether.”

He wore his pout a bit more indignantly than usual, perhaps unfiltered by his barely awake state. His hair stuck in all directions, curling over the nape of his bare neck. The body underneath the sheets was obviously naked. He looked thoroughly fucked out and that made the weight on Honoria’s stomach sunk deeper.

As several silent moments passed with her on the threshold and Arthur sitting on the mattress and Honoria did not feel any eager to initiate the conversation, Arthur huffed.

“Are you just going to stare at me? Christ, Honoria, if you have to wake me up at least you could have the decency to come up with a reason!”

Honoria swallowed “Arthur, I want to tell you something.”

She felt the air shift as the door opened behind her. She closed her eyes briefly. Not now, not when she was about to do something brave for once.

“Good morning, Arthur. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.”

She looked sideward to where Meriwether offered Arthur the tea. It was the same cup he had made for her. Arthur grasped it and thanked him, looking at the other man like he had offered him gold. Meriwether sat on the bed beside him, kissing Arthur lightly on the cheek. Arthur looked momentarily lost before recalling Honoria’s presence.

“Hum, ah…Sorry, Honoria, what were you saying?”

She looked at Meriwether, who smiled on peacefully. She realized he had known this could happen. His hand touched the small of Arthur’s back, an innocent touch that was obviously planned. Arthur looked expectantly at her, clearly appeased with the affection. They’d have spent morning like this for weeks now, leaving plenty of time for Meriwether to know everything about Arthur, about Amelia and Honoria. Meriwether would have had all the occasions to create the illusion of romance and foster dependency. Oh god, what was she doing? Arthur would never believe her. He’d never want to.

She swallowed. She could do her best and plant the seed of suspicion. She looked for a reference, a word, an author, something that she could use to inform Arthur and make him see.

“You should read the Red-Headed League.” she blurted out.

Arthur blinked and an incredulous smile formed on his lips. “What? You mean the Sherlock Holmes story?”

Honoria nodded. Yes, this would do. It was the best she could do.

“It might come in handy.”

Arthur frowned. Meriwether looked pensive by his side. It was clear he had not understood it, but could find no factual fault in what she said.

Excusing herself with trembling limbs, she opened the door and stepped out. As she faced the room again she saw Meriwether kissing Arthur’s neck. The mug hung from the boy’s hand, dangerously close to tipping. Meriwether’s eyes found hers even as he undressed Arthur, a mocking eyebrow raised. She closed the door as quickly as she could.

Shakily breathing out, she descended the stairs and went back to bed. Amelia slept still on her own bed with gentle snores that would undoubtedly startle her into wakefulness in just a few minutes. All was peaceful on a Sunday morning in Satis House. She wondered how long that would last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. Meriwether is despicable.  
> I will try to update these either every Friday or every Saturday.


	8. a paperback with a pink cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matthew Pocket defends Arthur's honour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: slut shaming

Matthew buried his head in his pillow and sighed contentedly. It had been a long day, with Maths striking the customary blow after blow during class and Economics providing an excellent opportunity for doodling in the corner of the pages whilst internally having a meltdown. Mr Dedlock had found it amusing and shown it to class, but had also, in his defense, spent ten minutes explaining what it was that had been so wrong in the first place. He then had proceeded to give extra homework for the holidays, which Matthew actually thought was a good thing because he knew he could get better at Economics with a little more practice. Mathematics were a lost cause, and he’d been having long conversations on the phone with Amelia about the details of a sports scholarship. His cousin did not know anything about that sort of issue, but advised him the best she could before declaring she had Jaggers on the other line.

It was Thursday already, which meant tomorrow Christmas vacations would start, which meant sleeping the longest he could without it becoming indecent. After the adequate dosage was administered, it’d be afternoons filled with dutiful TV watching and the occasional book. He had wanted to start a new book series for a while. There was also his training at night, but that meant hobby-like excitement and did not feel as a duty at all. No, his vacations would be amazing. He’d probably convince his father to let him stay at Satis House for a few days too. He rolled over when it got too stuffy to breathe properly and blew out some air.

Arthur read on the bed by the opposite wall, completely absorbed in his book. They had managed to stay together on the first year of school due to prodding by Pocket’s father and it’d been a very happy pairing ever since. Pocket regretted that this year would be the last of them rooming together, at least if they did not manage to go to the same university when they finished their A-levels.

His cousin held a copy of the Complete Sherlock Holmes from the school library, a paperback with a pink cover that Pocket found a bit bizarre. Not due to the colour, but rather the choice of literature. When questioned earlier, Arthur just muttered ‘Honoria’ and got back to reading. Since he had laid down Pocket had heard the occasional snort accompanied by a derisive comment about Holmes still being as gay as one could get. Then he gasped loudly enough to tear Pocket’s attention from that one spot in the ceiling that looked like the British Isles.

“What’s wrong? Did Holmes get it wrong this time?” he asked, scratching his chest.

“Oh, Pocket!” he called excitedly “I was so curious about why Honoria told me to read a Sherlock Holmes story of all things and now I know: It has Meriwether!”

“What, is he the villain or something? Moriarty’s disciple or something?”

Arthur shook his head. “Of course not, how could Meriwether be a villain with a name like that? There is a villain but he’s called John Clay, master con man who has dealing with Moriarty and all that stuff. No, there is a policeman called Meriwether! Look!”

He nearly fell over in the rush to show it to his cousin, limbs probably numb from the weird positions he kept reading in. When Pocket did manage to focus his attention on the page, his eyes first found the ridiculous amount of moustaches in the illustration. Then he looked further and the name stuck out as if highlighted.

“You’re right! And it’s Merryweather here.” he exclaimed, grabbing the book “See, I told you it was an actual name!”

“I can’t wait to tell Meriwether! He’s a Mr here!” Arthur said, a giggle half-formed in his throat. He could tell he was excited with the new teasing material.

“You should ask him why he’s living in London if he’s called Merryweather!”

Arthur snorted. “That’s a bad one, even for you.” He declared. Pocket just shrugged. Meriwether had a terrible name; he had terrible puns.

He reclined again against the mattress, taking the paperback from Pocket’s hands. He continued reading with the occasional giggle. He had an inkling his cousin was imagining Meriwether as a cop. Having only been with the man once, Pocket couldn’t quite picture it. From what he herad, he’d probably be too busy romancing Arthur for any actual detective work. Comparing the Arthur from the start of the term to the Arthur before him made Pocket’s heart swell. He was overwhelmed by the sweetness of his description, but it warmed his heart to know that his cousin had found someone.

There was a knock at the door just as Arthur seemed to be finished with the book. Pocket glanced at the clock that was placed over the door. There was one in every double room in the school and every time a student was late for a class or happened to be caught in the corridors at a time they were not supposed to be, there would be a very Serious Talk. If it happened to be Mr Bumble monitoring the halls, the student would be frowned upon but mostly he’d suffer from Mr Bumble puffing up and trying to project his voice in what he considered a stern tone. If it was Mrs Bumble, he’d probably be dragged to the nearest room, have the clock pointed at, forced to tell the time and probably have some relatively minor but boring chore for the rest of the week.

It was, at the present time, nine o’clock. Their curfew was steadfast approaching. It wasn’t illegal per se to be in the corridors at this time of the night, but terribly frowned upon just like everything else. There was a common room and most of the boys either used it to study or to go to the computer – monitored as well – up until ten o’clock, when the bell rang to tell them to go to bed. As it happened with most new students, it only served to startle them up and make sleep more elusive. One got used to it after a few weeks, however, and Pocket had not noticed it for several years now, even if the thing was the loudest, shrilliest thing he’d ever heard.

The knock sounded again and Arthur groaned, getting up and flipping Matthew off. “It’s your turn next.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t quite expecting someone for tea!” he explained, grinning. It was honestly so rare for the students to come to his and Arthur’s room he’d forgotten to actually answer the door.

Arthur padded across the room, feet dragging. It didn’t look like his day had been fantastic either. He had had Drama and his language subject which Pocket could never recall but was certainly difficult. Out of the two he didn’t know which one he would fail harder at. Probably the mysterious language one, if he didn’t even know its name.

The door opened a couple of inches and the person on the other side said something to his cousin. Arthur hesitated, looking back at Pocket who threw back a questioning look. Looking again at the person behind the door, he went to the corridor, closing the door behind him. Pocket thought the whole exchange strange, but guessed it couldn’t be too much of a nuisance if Arthur did not ask for Pocket’s presence. It seemed like there wouldn’t be tea after all.

After a few minutes passed and Matthew had turned on his stomach again, he heard the sound of raised voices on the corridor. Getting up, he crossed the room and opened the door. Down the corridor and close to the stairwell, probably considering the possibility of monitors, Arthur leaned against the wall, a shape in front of him. Not noticing Pocket in the doorway, they kept talking, clearly thinking they were doing so in a hushed tone. It came across as a stage whisper, as Arthur would say.

“Why not, Havisham?” asked the boy towering over his cousin “You said you liked it so much the other times. Said you couldn’t get enough of me.” Pocket recognized Jones and his slurred way of speaking. He could never quite spell out words properly, both on paper and speech.

“Those were the last times.” Arthur firmly stated “I don’t feel like it anymore.”

“I thought you felt like it all the time.” Jones hesitated, laying his hand on Arthur’s neck and stroking with uncharacteristic softness the skin. Arthur closed his eyes briefly. “Is this you playing tough?”

Arthur frowned, slapping the offending hand off. “Playing tough? No, you dense jerk. This is me telling you no.”

He then tried to shove him, but Jones played rugby with Pocket. He’d seen him resist a particularly vicious attack during a scrum with no consequences whatsoever. He might not be a scholarly type, but he was definitely a tough nut to crack. He wondered why he was picking on Arthur again, of all things. Pocket had thought their conflict behind them by now. Years of Jones tugging Arthur’s hair and shoving him into the wall had stopped when Pocket had punched him for locking Arthur inside a classroom one time he’d been the last one to leave. He had not noticed his cousin’s absence until much later, when next period started and his desk was bereft of his usual partner. He had kicked himself internally for being led away by Jones himself to the school grounds, and been furious when he had found out what had happened. That had been a lunch break the school would recall for posterity.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve already been doing someone tonight?” he leered, drawing nearer again. “You were always an unsatisfied sort.”

Arthur flinched, but it did not deter him from having a comeback. “Ah, poor little Harry, thinking he’s better than anyone else - and when I say little Harry I really do mean little.” He paused, watching the other boy for a reaction “Yes, I’ve been doing so many and all their cocks were bigger than yours. As for unsatisfied, maybe the problem rests with you. Not big enough to satisfy anyone, really.”

Pocket sighed. Well, his cousin sometimes could find the best words. He noticed Jones curl his hand into a fist and decided this was the time to intervene. There was no way this would end well with both his cousin’s temper and Jones’ usual rage at stake.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, momentarily drawing attention to himself before Jones looked back at Arthur.

“What the fuck did you say, you cocksucker?” he hissed, stepping closer to his cousin.

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Arthur replied ingeniously. This would definitely not end well, Pocket thought just as he managed to grab Arthur by his arm and pull him to his side. His cousin made a small noise as he tucked into Pocket’s side. Pocket felt his hand tremble as he tried to grab his shoulder. It seemed all his talk was just that.

“Come on, Jones. Go to your room.” He said, trying to placate the one student in school that somehow managed to be taller than him. Of course Arthur had to mess around with him, of course. Of all stupid, dimwitted, hotheaded jerks that the school had readily available, it had to be Jones.

The other boy turned around. His tie had probably been taken off before he had come to find Arthur, his uniform askew. His face was red and Pocket speculated just how much of what Arthur said hit the truth.

“You get up on your high horse like the Havisham filth you claim to be, but you’re really nothing but a whore!” the boy said in a rush.

There was a moment of silence. Some doors creaked on the corridor, some gasps which definitely belonged to students too curious to care about propriety. Pocket took a step forward, releasing Arthur’s hand. Jones blanched.

“I am sorry but I didn’t quite catch what you just said. Would you care to repeat your opinion about my cousin?” he asked with as much calm as he could muster.

Jones closed his mouth and shook his head.

“I thought so too.” Pocket agreed, then projecting his voice to the invisible spectators “Any opinion anyone should have of my cousin that they feel the need to share on the corridors may be transmitted to me personally.”

All doors shut simultaneously. Pocket turned to Jones.

“I’m so s-“

“Go to your room.” He ordered as calmly as he could “If I hear you speak about Arthur ever again, even by name, so help me God I am personally going deal with the matter with my own hands. Understood?”

Jones nodded and took no time in scarpering off to bed. Only Pocket remained, alone in the corridor and hearing no noise from downstairs, where the common room and other years were placed. Deciding that there probably wouldn’t be any more movement in that part of school that night, he turned off the lights and went back to his own room. Arthur was already in bed, room dark. Curled into a corner of the narrow bed he managed to occupy only a third of the already limited space. The Complete Sherlock Holmes was discarded on the floor, open with the pages turned down.

“You really shouldn’t leave your books like this.” Pocket muttered, kneeling down and picking it up. “They’re going to get dog ears and you hate dogs.”

Arthur didn’t laugh.

“You know that guy is so stupid he probably can’t spell half of the shit he says, right?” Pocket asserted, hovering besides his cousin’s bed. There was no way he was going to let his cousin get upset over a loser who has no filter on his mouth. Arthur didn’t find a fault in his argument, but couldn’t reply either.

Pocket sat down on the bed. “Does his opinion matter to you?”

Arthur huffed underneath the sheet. “Of course not, even if he knew what an opinion was.”

Pocket smirked “Then just ignore what he says.”

“It’s what half the school thinks. I’m not oblivious, Matthew.”

“Of course not. I guess it hurts having people think badly of you. What he called you it’s not a bad thing per se, don’t get me wrong. But he doesn’t have the authority to condemn your behavior with any word whatsoever.” he firmly declared, thinking of the way the other boy had leaned into Arthur’s space as if he owned even just a tiny fraction of it. “Doing…erm…things with people doesn’t mean you owe them. Having a relationship with someone doesn’t mean you belong to them either.”

“I didn’t have a relationship with Jones.”

“I didn’t mean Jones.”

His cousin turned slightly, looking over his shoulder at Pocket. A frown appeared on his forehead.

“Meriwether would never do that to me.”

“I’m not saying he would.” Pocket conceded “But he could.”

Arthur didn’t say anything and Pocket took it as a sign to explain himself. “You’ve been talking about him like he’s a god that picked you, oh mortal being, from Earth. Or in this case, a gay bar I suppose. A man who listens, is charming, is romantic, and has a job and maturity, who has started to date you. I mean, it’s wonderful. I am so happy for you.”

Arthur looked on expectantly. He could not make out his expression completely in the darkness, but he emanated stillness, his breath held with inquisition.

“Why did you start doing that with Jones, Arthur?”

Arthur shifted on the mattress, taken aback with the change of topic. “I just needed to touch someone.”

Pocket nodded. “It’s natural. I mean, I don’t feel any drive to do the same things you do but I get that need of human touch on a daily basis. It’s not the same, but I like touching my friends, you and Amelia, my father. Whenever I do that, I feel loved.”

“Where are you trying to get?”

“I’m sorry, I probably sound a bit weird. That thing in the corridor caught me off-guard. What I mean is, don’t get too attached.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

Pocket sighed. This wasn’t a conversation he actually wanted to have with his cousin at all. “Just how deeply you care for Meriwether? Are you in love, is this just a…erm special relationship? I know your relationship isn’t just sex. What do you make of Meriwether’s feelings?”

“He said he liked me very much.” Arthur replied after a moment of consideration “He keeps praising me, which I find strange but I like it anyway. I don’t really want to think about it, to be honest. It all seems too good to be true, even if he doesn’t feel the same.”

“I think you deserve to be on equal footing of feelings with the person you choose to give yourself to, Arthur. That’s what I meant by not being too attached. With Jones and the other guys, you only wanted their touch. What do you want from Meriwether?”

Arthur hesitated before sitting up.

“I just want to be with him. No-one has ever cared for me the way he does. Sometimes I hope that he says that it’s over and he can’t bother anymore, not because I want to but because I fear that someday it will and it’ll hurt even more. There was this one time we were back at his flat, and it was a Saturday morning, and he started to tell me something about himself. He stopped mid-sentence and looked at me like there was nothing in world but us two. I almost said it then. I wish I had. But that would be too brave for me at the moment. The phone rang, of course, and I found I could not.” He inhaled deeply before letting out a shaky laugh “Pocket, I think I’m in love.”

“In know you are.” Pocket replied, smiling slightly at the incredulous grin that he could now see on his cousin’s face “I am glad, then. You deserve it.”

He then enveloped his cousin in his arms, feeling Arthur relax in the embrace and breathing deeply. He could smell the faint chamomile shampoo Arthur had preferred for all his life. It was the only one that didn’t make him cry.

“Now we’re going to cuddle because this bed feels very warm and mine is like a foot away or something.” Pocket declared “Such a gigantic distance. I’m not even sure, but it’s almost China for all I care.”

Arthur just laughed and threw the sheets over. With some minor adjustments, they fit in the bed like they had when they were children and Pocket’s bed had slowly been becoming too small for his body. He missed being like this with Arthur, who had gradually grown more distant with each year. They were still close, but a part of Pocket wished the simplicity of their shared childhood, when their fathers had been on the best terms and it was rare for them not to sleep over at each other’s house. Somewhere along the way, Pocket had met new friends, and Arthur had let him. Pocket had become an athlete, and Arthur had watched him. He’d become popular, and Arthur had remained alone. He had come out to him at a young age and to Pocket it had been just another side of his cousin. He wasn’t naïve to the point he did not recognize the difficulties that arose from that in Arthur’s life, namely the secrecy he needed to maintain at home. His cousin was constantly afraid of his father finding out and Pocket couldn’t really blame him, knowing perfectly well the Havisham standards he set out for his children. When the secrecy became furtiveness at school with guys who mistreated him and sneered at what they had correctly guessed to be his secret, Pocket had relayed the decision to his cousin and silenced himself.

Arthur chose that moment to grab his hand and drag it to his chest. Pocket found some glee in still being a source of comfort to him.

Today had been a wake-up call. Somewhere along the way his cousin had started to keep things from him, and much as that hurt Pocket, he understood. He understood that Arthur must have thought Pocket wouldn’t understand, and he’d be right. He hated himself a little for Arthur being so right. He did not understand how one could feel so lonely to the point of seeking comfort in their abusers. No, he actually couldn’t understand how Arthur, of all people, could do that. A proud, intelligent, knowledgeable to the point of erudition and a thoroughbred Havisham that felt so bereft of touch. There were some experiences that went beyond common background or a common family branch. There were things Pocket would never understand. He truly hoped Meriwether was what his cousin needed. Pocket couldn’t be that, not anymore.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh, this part is nearly over. (And the next one, Blue Expectations, is about to start!)  
> Next chapter shit will go down!


	9. a blend of blue and pink lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur finds himself in a very complicated situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took longer to post this than I wanted to, but here it is. Don't shout abuse at me.
> 
> Warnings: Contain an anxiety attack, alcoholism and general Arthur-ness.

Last day of school had uncharacteristically flown by. He had said his goodbyes to Pocket, who had been still very embraceable due to the previous night’s events. He had promised that yes, he’d phone him as soon as he thought he had had quite enough of sleep and no, he didn’t have the slightest hope that that would be this weekend already. When he had arrived home, Mary had thrown him a questioning look. He had realized she had expected Meriwether to have come along with him, just like in the previous weekend. With Amelia out in America serving as an intermediary for the Havisham brewery in a possible deal and his father probably spending the weekend at home, he’d never dare. He asked for Honoria, wanting to tell her he had read the Red-Headed League case but could not understand the value he was supposed to get from it other than an opportunity to mock Meriwether. Mary had said she was gone for the weekend too, since ‘her soldier’ was supposedly in town. Arthur recalled meeting a James - or a Jack, he could not recall - back when Honoria started living at Satis House. He knew they had dated once, but had split up. Arthur speculated on the probability of the two of them getting back together and if he knew Honoria’s relationship with Amelia was one of a sexual nature.

After he managed to haul his heavy messenger bag – heavier than usual because he had brought all the manuals with him - up to his room, he collapsed face-down on the bed. It felt wonderfully soft, but after the weekends spent at Meriwether’s, it smelled wrong. Not enough Meriwether, that was for certain. His bed always smelled of expensive aftershave.

Arthur dozed off still facing down. He woke up soon afterwards to the sound of an alarm he did not remember setting. Looking at the clock and noticing the time – 19:55 – he realized Amelia had tampered with the clocks again, knowing exactly when Arthur would get home. She would pay for it in equal measure, he thought barbarously as he turned the thing off. He’d stop all her clocks during Christmas break and she wouldn’t be on time for the duration of time it took her to realize it. Knowing Honoria’s perception, she’d probably be aided quite soon afterwards. 

He got up, glaring at the clock once more. Why did he even have a clock anymore? He used his phone for everything; the ancient clock did not have any use besides occasionally blaring at him. Which reminded him that he could use his phone again. It was against school rules using the technology during the classes and corridors. They could use electronic devices on the the dorms, but other spaces were off-bounds. He had turned his phone off before Drama that morning and had forgotten to turn it back on. 

Hoping to have a new message from Meriwether, he was disappointed when the only notification he had was Pocket’s Facebook status declaring him ‘free until all the ghosts from equations past were exorcised from his head’. Arthur thought that somewhat impossible because he knew the amount of homework his cousin had to do in order to improve his grades. The future of his vacations looked very bleak indeed. As he set the phone away, he hesitated with his hand hovering over the side table. Meriwether had not messaged him since last Sunday, when they had parted ways on the subway with a kiss. Arthur had been elated by the entire weekend for a couple of days afterwards and did not question the absence of messages. Now that he thought about it, he found it strange. Since they had started going out, there had not been a single day they did not send a message to each other. Why did Meriwether stop now?

Sitting back with a weird sensation tingling the hairs on the back of his neck, he sighed. It was probably work keeping him much too occupied. Arthur shouldn’t be so clingy. Meriwether probably just needed space and time, even if he could have taken the effort to at least ask if he was on vacations already. Just as he considered this, he heard steps coming up the stairs, heavy ones. Arthur gulped. His father was home.

In the few seconds before the door opened, he looked around trying to judge the state of his room. Only a few books were out of space from the previous weekend, a few papers on the desk. Nothing too messy, a fact he was glad for because his father associated messiness with laziness and Arthur didn’t really want to start a fight on his first hours of vacation time.

Astor Havisham had an imposing figure. Dark-haired and standing taller than even Matthew, he was both physically and intellectually an adversary for every businessman or woman who tried to propose strategies and plans to the brewery. For all that Arthur dreaded any conversation with him, he had to admit his father was an honest, straightforward man. He had inherited both the brewery and the money from Arthur’s grandfather, but he had been the one who had made it stand against all the economic crisis the country had faced in the past years. The one who had made sure the number one beer in the country remained a Havisham. He understood his father was a man who had matched the great expectations from his family, the investors and the shareholders. He also understood that he could never get along with him, perhaps because he knew those same expectations transferred to his sister and, on a smaller scale, himself.

“Good evening.” he greeted, standing up. His father looked at the papers and the books and the shelves. He looked at the feet of the bed and then at the ceiling. He sighed.

“Pack your bag.” he finally said, in lieu of a greeting.

Arthur frowned, taking in the figure before him. He seemed tired, even more so than usual. He looked like he had gone out of a meeting and headed straight home. “Where are we going?”

“You’re going.” his father replied after a moment of consideration. It didn’t make any sense, and Arthur told him so, increasingly worried by how he seemed unable to meet his eyes.

“I said, pack your bag.” his father gritted out. “I’m not going to repeat myself, Arthur.”

Arthur clenched his hands and tried to stand taller. “Could I possibly know where I’m going?”

His father shrugged and it struck Arthur how he had never seen him do that. He was clearly tense and weary, but Arthur couldn’t possibly know what about.

“You can go wherever you want to.”

“Father, you’re starting to scare me.” he confessed, already reaching for any possible faults within his mind “What have I done?”

A weight was forming on his stomach. He could have an estimate of the times he had directly failed his father in the past. He guessed Amelia could too. The ways he disappointed him, however, were countless.

His father flinched when he heard Arthur’s request, his mouth temporarily becoming a grimace. He finally looked at his son and something darkened them considerably. Whatever this was, it wasn’t about the brewery or his grades, but far worse. 

“A man called me this Monday, said he had something to talk to me about concerning my son.” he paused, clearly intending for Arthur to hear the story correctly “I was curious, a bit hopeful that you had won something at school, or some information concerning your A-Levels. I remembered that you had stated some interest towards Cambridge and asked if that had been the reason. He said it was not, but something better discussed in private. I scheduled the meeting for today after lunch. He came on time, that I have to allow.”

“And what was it?” he asked. Parents meeting were usually held at school, so it couldn’t have anything to do with it.

Reaching for the interior pocket of his suit, his father removed a single piece of paper, offering it afterwards without a word.

Arthur took it. 

His stomach plummeted and the floor seemed to slide away from him. The strength of the shock was so great he was forced to sit on his bed again. Moments passed with neither of them uttering a word. It was not possible, he told himself. He must have seen it wrong, even if his father’s reaction indicated otherwise. He didn’t have the courage to look at the photo again.

“I see.” Arthur felt he had no breath to say anything else.

“You have fifteen minutes and not a moment more.” His father declared. He started to turn and the sight of the usually proud shoulders drooping was enough to bring Arthur out of his shock.

"Please, father…" he started, getting up and leaving the photo on the comforter. 

At the sound of his voice, his father turned to him, snatching his arm abruptly. It was the first time he had touched him in years. The proximity made Arthur dizzy.

"You brought a stranger to my house and made it into your  _ den _ .” his father spat out. The hand that gripped him seemed to be made of iron. It matched his eyes. Arthur had never been so frightened in the presence of his father. How did he find that photo? And he wouldn’t kick him out, would he?

“It wasn’t like that.” he managed to say, trying to find an argument that could dissuade him. If Amelia was there, she would find plenty.  _ It was a mistake,  _ she’d say _. I was going to tell you,  _ she’d argue _. I was afraid of what you’d think of me,  _ she’d insist _. I was lonely and this man gave me some attention. _

“Do you really think so, Arthur? Do you think I could have interpreted blackmail as anything but what it was?”

Arthur’s breath stilled. His father looked on and his words finally sunk in. Meriwether had blackmailed his father. He had asked money in exchange of silence. No, but that wasn’t possible! That photo had been a spur of the moment thing; he could never have used it against him! He could never have sold Arthur’s privacy to the one person he should have never exposed it to. He felt a knot on his throat.

“Well.” his father concluded “It seems we both got ugly surprises today.”

“No, Meriwether could never do that.” he defended “He is an insurance consultant and he admires the Havisham enterprises. He is a serious man!”

Arthur’s father formed a humourless smile. “He is a blackmailer.” 

“Father, please.” he insisted, hearing his voice as if from a distance “Don’t do this.”

“You made a parody of Satis House.” his father calmly replied “I don't have a son." 

He had heard that tone before, too many times. His father’s mind was already decided. He let go of his already loosened grip. If he had refused to look at him before, now his eyes looked back coldly, a stare Arthur had never been on the other end of. It seemed as if they had become complete strangers with the exchange of a simple photograph.

“You brought this on yourself.” His father declared, leaving the room.

He did not understand. That wasn’t right. Meriwether could not, not after the words whispered at dawn, all the walks in Regent’s Park, after all the kisses, embraces and declarations. It was surreal in the way that a strange object in a familiar room could be. The space in his heart that he had dedicated to Meriwether was close to collapsing. It could not be. A little voice whispered to him that there was the physical proof, resting just behind him. He shut it out, trying to reason with himself.

It was 19:34PM.

Arthur moved to retrieve the suitcase from the bottom of his closet. He folded some shirts haphazardly and shoved them along with jeans and his favourite sweater. There was something wrong with this, he was sure. He’d have to pack his books too, and that was a bother because they would eventually get crumpled pages. A man had visited his father, but he had never said his name. Maybe it wasn’t Meriwether at all. Maybe he could pack some tissues too, just in case.

He remembered his toothbrush and socks and underwear. He remembered that he had to take ‘Maurice’ for the amount of time he took to come back. He could go to Pocket’s until he found a way to explain it better to his father. It really couldn’t be Meriwether. Maybe a co-worker had found the photo. They had both definitely been victims to a horrible prank, but it’d be alright in the end.

He zipped the bag. Meriwether had probably lost his phone. He found his backpack in the floor, heavy with textbooks that he would take with him for the amount of time it took for him to come back. Someone had probably found it in the tube and recognized Arthur in the photograph. He didn’t know how, though. He didn’t show up in events as often as his sister, and his face was anything but noteworthy. If Meriwether could say he had ‘one of those faces’, Arthur could say that too.

His father appeared on the doorway, looked at him and left again. He had said nothing but Arthur understood nonetheless. He looked at the old, useless clock. Exactly fifteen minutes had passed.

The narrow staircase creaked under his feet. The third step made a terrible noise as it usually did, now the only sound in the house. The unimportant portraits of lost Havishams stared back at him with reproach. A blond young man who always looked disdainful no matter Arthur’s age gazed at him with his upper lip turned.  _ My, how have the Havishams fallen _ , he seemed to say. Arthur felt a powerful need to tear it down. As if Victorian-era dandies had any moral to judge him by.

He passed by the closed door of his sister’s bedroom on the first floor. What would she think when she came home? Would she speak on Arthur’s behalf? She was partly to blame. She had listened to Arthur, made him a favour by letting bring his boyfriend to Satis House. Would she be punished too? Knowing his father’s biased distribution of his affections, probably not. Arthur stopped by the open door of the bedroom that belonged to his father. He was currently inside, body facing the window. Arthur hesitated, thinking he should say something. The blush on his cheeks had not lessened at all. He felt like he was burning and the whole house was burning with him. He tried to step inside the room but the presence of the photograph, shoved in haste in his pocket, caught his attention. Turning away, he guessed he had been fooled after all, and Amelia and Honoria along with him. The wallpaper was so green it hurt his eyes. He wondered if Satis House had ever had the poisonous wallpaper kind or if the house was poisonous just by itself, no wallpaper needed.

The bottom floor made him think of tripping down the stairs and being lectured by his mother. He remembered descending the steps on her funeral day, hand enveloped in Amelia’s. How safe he’d felt then, and how unsettlingly okay. Amelia had only been eighteen at the time, the same age he was now. He was not able to take care of himself now, how could she have handled everything so gracefully then? She’d been motherless since nearly her birth, found a mother in Arthur’s and even she had faded away from her life. She had remained strong. How could Arthur ever hope to do the same? 

He realized Satis House had been present throughout much of his life. He’d hated it viciously, had said so to his sister, his cousin and everyone who cared to listen. He’d sworn to leave it as soon as he turned eighteen, to go to college and find something to do, hopefully not too hard because he would have better things to do by then. Nearly four months after his birthday and being thrown out of Satis House, he shivered not with expectation but with fear. How could he have ever had thought it anything but a home? He’d never been on his own. He’d never known another home. How could he ever have discarded the influence of its existence in his life? How could he have brought Meriwether there? How could have Meriwether done that to him?

The grip on his suitcase tightened and he released a shaky breath. He felt like he was choking. 

He thought he’d find the hallway empty. A figure, clad in black for as long as Arthur had known her, remained. He looked at Mary as he neared the front door. She looked as numb as he felt. Did she know what had happened? He could have said something then, but nothing would make sense to Mary or himself. Saying goodbye to Satis House was the same as saying goodbye to her. She had grown up there too, following her own father and occasionally talking to Amelia. When she had effectively come to work as a maid, all the ties had dissolved. But she’d been as part of the household as much as Arthur and Honoria. The moment passed and he left the building whilst feeling her stare acutely. The hallway had been dimly-lit. The darkness of the street was engulfing. 

He wavered with the weight of his luggage, a needed but cumbersome presence across his chest and under his hand. The next thing he knew he was already outside the gates, the wheels of the suitcase momentarily stopping their racket. Resisting the need to look back at the third window to the right, he continued to walk. It was so dark he could not spot anything that wasn’t directly underneath the street lamps. A few people passed by him, neighbours that definitely must recognize the youngest Havisham in the bizarre boy still clad in his school uniform, strangely weighted down with a suitcase and his messenger bag. The noise of the tiny wheels made him feel self-conscious. The uniform made him feel like a joke.

He  _ had _ been played a joke and he could no longer deny Meriwether was the one to have played it. There was no way Meriwether would forget his phone, no chance they would manage to steal it from him. He couldn’t afford to think about it just yet. Now he needed to get some money and make out where he’d go from there.

He remembered the ATM on a block not far away. He could do that, and then call Pocket. It was thankfully the start of the vacations and he wouldn’t miss any classes because of this. He had had only a part in the scenographic section of drama class and his absence probably wouldn’t be noticed in the school play. He remained Arthur, forgettable Arthur. Only his sister would notice he was gone. Honoria would probably struggle to remember his name.

Spotting the machine in the corner after being thrown a questioning look by one of his neighbours who had been walking her dog, he set his suitcase by the wall and removed his wallet from the messenger bag. Taking out his credit card, he inserted it with impatience. Stopping had made him realize how cold it was and he rubbed his hands together, trying for some warmth. He waited a moment, breath visible in the night. A boy passed by him with another suitcase. Arthur wondered if he had been kicked out too. A click dragged him from his reverie, a sound he did not expect. He looked down and saw his card peeking from its entry on the machine. He pushed it in again. After a few seconds, it came out again. Arthur frowned. Why was the machine rejecting his card?

He tried again. It came out. He persisted again and again but the machine threw up the card with each try. This was not possible. He had checked his card the other day and it had been fine. Was the machine malfunctioning?

At his seventh try, he looked at the screen properly.

CARD REJECTED. DEACTIVATED ACCOUNT.

He blinked, trying to gather some meaning before the card was pushed out again. Deactivated? But the only one other than Arthur who had access to the account was his father.

_ Oh. _

Of course. Why would his father keep this account when the person using it was an utter disappointment? Why would he let him have some money for himself when the leash was already cut loose? Yes of course his father had done this.

Of course his father would cut him off completely, he thought as he kicked the machine, card still in its slot. Of course he’d do it as a Havisham would, absolutely not by halves. Of course stupid Arthur, who could not understand business and economy and shares and whatever those fucking hags spoke about during meetings, would fuck things up and not come up with any excuse. He kicked the machine again, feeling at last the tears that trickled down his face.

Arthur Havisham, the useless brother. Arthur Havisham, the family disappointment. Arthur, the unloved. Arthur, the unwanted. Arthur who had nearly been born on the wrong side of the sheets. Who had been a leech to the Havisham family since his inception. He who had dared to stray from the norm, who had never felt truly loved. Arthur Havisham, the poof who had fallen for the first cock that had given him some reciprocity. 

Arthur saw the truth now, bared between kicks and the flow of tears. He didn’t even know what he was doing anymore, only that his right foot felt numb and his hands didn’t feel as cold as before. He kept doing whatever it was that seemed to make him see clearer, even if it brought nothing but the evidence of how obvious Meriwether had been in retrospective. He had been epically fucked in every possible way of the word and lost everything in the click of a photo. Boyfriend, family, money; he had nothing now.

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him, chest against the wall. The vicious grip of a gloved hand encircled his forearms, twisting as a voice spoke behind him.

“I need you to calm down, sir.” a man declared, sounding a bit breathless. Arthur gulped, heart racing. Just his luck.

The touch of his cheek against the cold plastered wall was not helping in making him any calmer, neither did the press of another man’s body against his. Why had he started kicking the machine? Why had he been so stupid as to think any sort of vandalism would be overlooked in Mayfair?

“It’s alright, officer. I just went a bit mad.” he confessed, struggling against the weight the other man was forcing onto him.

“Sir, I am asking you to stop using force.” the policeman gritted out.

“I am not using force!” he exclaimed, kicking the wall.

Arthur was not feeling too confident about how the conversation was going. Or about the way his body kept reacting against his will.

“I’m sorry.” he shouted. The policeman shoved him into the wall and seconds later Arthur felt the metal against his skin. He gulped.

_ Oh god. _

 

* * *

 

 

Police stations apparently held an eclectic mix of people, Arthur noticed as an old lady with tattoos on her fingers gave a young man with a mohawk a deathly stare. The young man tried to ignore her, but the way he leaned his body the furthest away from her as possible indicated his true aspiration. The old lady looked on as if she had all the time in the world - something Arthur doubted from the wrinkle count- , unruffled by his attempts to escape the bench he was handcuffed to. She was shackled as well but wore it like an accessory. He mused whether she had resisted arrest just like him and how many men were needed to take her down. 

As if guessing his thoughts, the old woman turned her eyes away from the other man to Arthur across the corridor. Her glare spoke of the kind of kitchen utensils handling that would get a body in the morgue. Arthur was partly glad he looked so inoffensive with his grammar school face and rumpled uniform. He wondered if there had ever been a Havisham that had faced charges of vandalism. If not, he was glad to have contributed to the long family history. Would  be written down as a ruffian or a deserter from the family ways?

Sighing and turning his head away because there was only so much of glaring he could take in one day, he noticed a man getting out of one of the side rooms down the corridor. He looked haggard as he stepped up to the cubicle occupied by the custody officer that had validated his arrest with a sort of boredom, as if ia teenager being arrested in their school uniform was just another friday night usual. Arthur currently awaited the policeman that had shoved him against the wall because apparently there were no available waiting cells. He’d told him so with some regret because he had to apparently wait for Arthur to be processed or something like that. Good. Let the bastard wait.

The man that had come out of the side rooms noticed him sitting alone in the bench. He wore no constable uniform or anything that could identify him as a policeman, but he clearly worked at the station. Maybe a clerk, he guessed. Arthur stared back. He would not be intimidated. He was a Havi-

Well, he wouldn’t be intimidated. Havisham or not.

The man kept on looking, taking in the bruise on his cheek from the wall, the uniform, his face. Arthur grew uncomfortable under his inspection. The man said something to the custody officer, muffled by the distance. The other officer replied with a grunt and the man frowned. Arthur wondered if he had asked who he was or what he had done. Both constituted very censurable data.

“Jesus, aren’t you done for the day?” Arthur managed to hear from the officer at the desk. The man turned to his colleague and smiled briefly, snatching something from the desk.

“No.” he simply replied. He then proceeded to cross the corridor to Arthur’s side, bending down to do something to the handcuffs. The odd couple on the other bench started to bicker. Arthur raised his eyebrows as the man uncuffed him, squirming slightly backwards in an attempt to get the damned things off already. The man grabbed him by the wrist.

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” he advised taking the cuffs away gently. He got up.

“You." he called, nodding with his head towards Arthur "Come with me."

Looking back at the combined stares from the other occupants, Arthur nodded vigorously. There was no way in hell he’d be in this corridor any longer.

He pattered after the man and entered the door open without a fuss. It was clearly an office, filled with shelves on either side that were currently full to the brim.  Fuller, if the folders resting on the floor and chairs were anything to go by. There were some dusty dossiers dangerously close to tipping resting on a wooden bench, a rather unusual choice in decor. The desk, however, was impeccably kept. Only a pen and a journal rested on its surface, stark black against the light wood. They were perfectly aligned with the edges of the desk and the sides of the chair. Besides that tidiness, a chaos of paper in neat stacks. 

“You may sit down.” the officer told him. Arthur looked at the chair currently occupied with yet another stack of papers and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you’re quite right.” the man said, hurrying to displace the pile to the top of the nearest chair. His pained face told Arthur that he had just disrupted a system of some sort. He just hoped he did not have to re-stack again just because of him. Arthur sat down.

There was a window behind the man, currently with its shutters drawn against the night. The clock on the windowsill told him it was 10PM already. Arthur meditated on just how long this would take and if the night would ever end. Taking into account he had spent the last two hours in a corridor with two criminals, he really had doubts about a reprieve coming any time soon. The man sat down on his side of the desk just as Arthur noticed the porcelain cat resting beside the clock. It had a bonnet of a blue that reminded him of the Maurice book cover he so liked.

The moment the man opened to speak, Arthur beat him to it.

“Where are my things?” he asked.

The man hesitated. Then he rested his elbows on the table, hands in a prayer position.

“First of all, good evening sir.”

Arthur glared but the man was perfectly serious, intent in hearing what Arthur had to say next.

“Good evening.” he croaked out. God, his voice sounded terrible, even to him.

“I am Inspector Bucket.” he informed him “What is your name?”

“Arthur.” he replied, waiting to see if the answer pleased him.

“Arthur what?” The man asked.

“Just Arthur.”

The man seemed disappointed. He leaned back again and Arthur realized they must have his ID so of course the man already knows his name.

“Now,  _ please _ .” Arthur pleaded, becoming surprised when the man smiled at the politeness “Could you tell me where my luggage is?”

Inspector Bucket frowned. “We have your messenger bag on the lockers, safely put away.”

Arthur blew out a breath. He had remembered, whilst in the corridor, the carefully placed money inside books over years. As long as he had that, he had enough for a few days. He could figure things out from there. A second time.

“I’d hardly call it ‘luggage’, though.” the inspector continued.

“I meant my suitcase.” he gritted through his teeth. He’d had quite enough of the man and he really wanted to go home. No, not home. Anywhere. Just, anywhere that did not have criminals.

“There is no suitcase in the lockers.”

Arthur snorted. “Right.” The nerve some policemen had. 

Inspector Bucket blinked. Arthur smiled against his frustration. It would not do to lose his temper with Inspector Goodmanners.

“Ah, you’re messing with me.”

“I assure you, young man, that I do not  _ mess _ with anyone when I’m working.”

Arthur felt a bubble of anxiety underneath his chest. That could not be. He put it against the wall when he tried to use the ATM.

“You didn’t have any other items on yourself when you were picked up.” Inspector Bucket informed after the sudden silence of the his temporary charge.

“No, no, no.” Arthur muttered, getting up “That can’t be right. The suitcase was with me when I stopped at the corner and there was no-one- _ oh _ .”

The boy. Who had a suitcase. Who had silently passed by him without even a glance.

“Oh no.” he whimpered. His hands had flown up to his mouth without him quite realizing it.

“Oh, god no.”

Arthur turned his back on the Inspector and started to pace the cramped room. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and his school books. Nothing but his rumpled uniform, his empty wallet and his useless books. The inutility of his choices finally came back to bite him. Why had he not noticed the boy? Why had he not remembered the bills stuck in his books before he went to the ATM? Why had he not saved up a small amount every month, just in case? Why had he never nurtured any kind of practicality? Now he had nowhere to go, no money to assure his survival and he was currently in the process of being arrested. 

He was trying his hardest not to think of Meriwether but every aborted breath shortened by the lump on his throat had been thus transformed by the man’s actions. If he hadn’t said yes to that date, if he hadn’t said yes to that photograph, if he hadn’t been so gullible, so naive, so stupid, so useless, so eager to be complimented and praised.

It was all so very confusing in his head. He felt like he was suffocating.

“Arthur!” he heard the Inspector exclaim. Startled by the sudden sound piercing through the cacophony in his head, he had trouble concentrating on the man that had somehow gotten in front of him without Arthur noticing.

“Arthur, I need you to calm down.” he asked. Inspector Bucket sounded like he had been calling his name for a while.

“I think you’re having an attack.” The man informed him with a calm voice, hands splayed open in a placating gesture. 

Arthur realized he was correct because the room felt too stuffy all of a sudden, everything too near. Even Inspector Bucket seemed crowding, and he was keeping himself at a distance. The air on Arthur’s lungs was definitely insufficient. He closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists, trying to concentrate on his breathing alone. When he opened them next he was considerably more able to draw in air.

“Good, Arthur. Good.” the Inspector complimented “Now, could you please tell me how you’ve found yourself kicking an ATM at eight in the evening in Mayfair?”

Arthur nodded slowly, feeling the room spin with the motion, and dragged himself back to the chair he had vacated. The Inspector sat opposite him, and Arthur felt an immense gratitude for what he had done. His heart was still racing from the effort of breathing, but the walls no longer seemed like they would cave in on him. He felt like he could trust the man, but he did not know why. After Meriwether, it seemed foolish. 

"I got kicked out by my father." Arthur eventually said. The man nodded. He probably had already expected that.

"And why did he do that?" he asked him, seeming purely interest and not judgemental.

"He found out I'm gay." he replied, closing his eyes at the memory of his father’s disgust.

The inspector leaned back, eyebrows raised so high they seemed to touch his hairline.

"I admit I did not expect this to be the reason of vandalism." he mused. Arthur did not feel like laughing. Neither did Inspector Bucket with the graves lines that marked his face, but his voice seemed flippant when paired off against his sufferings. He tried to explain it better.

"I was just angry because he cut me off completely. I went to the ATM and it was gone. Everything. I have no money now.” he sighed against the tremor in his voice “I am- I was rich, you know?"

The good inspector nodded, becoming severe for a moment. "I am aware of your name, Mr Havisham."

"Just Arthur.” he insisted “I'm just Arthur now."

Inspector Bucket nodded again.

“I just want to sleep.” he admitted. He didn’t think he could, however. He knew what his thoughts would return to once he set his head to the pillow, if he had the right to one after the way he had behaved.

"Well, Arthur, I'm feeling a bit conflicted here.” the inspector confessed “You did break the law, but at no real fault."

"You could throw me in a cell.” Arthur suggested, feeling a bit better for the inspector to be taking him seriously and not dismiss his situation “At least I'd have somewhere to sleep."

The inspector frowned at the suggestion and pursed his lips in thought.

"Don't you have family or a friend you could send the night at?"

Arthur nodded. "My cousin. I only have my cousin now, but he lives in Sutton.”

Bucket sighed. "I won't throw you into a cell just because you kicked an ATM. I can't even charge you."

"What will you do then?" Arthur asked. The man seemed honest enough.

"I am going to give you some money and then you're going to go to your cousin. You must promise to call me in the morning so I know you're alright.”

Arthur frowned slightly. Why was the man doing this? He had no reason to help him, no interest in his money since he had already told him he had none. 

As if reading his mind, Inspector Bucket proceeded. "Not all people are homophobic in this world.” 

His expression was earnest and kind. Arthur realized Bucket must know of his struggle too.

The man smile “Also, I can help you not to kick any more ATMs."

Arthur allowed a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

He had to walk to Green Park, satchel safely perched on his shoulder. The cold night air seemed to bite his face and he was glad he had brought the Burberry coat with him. Even breathing hurt. A strong wind seemed to be blowing from the East side and other people’s faces seemed as pained as his. The lights of the taxis flew by, a whirlpool of movement and sound making his head hurt. He had wanted to ask for an aspiring earlier, but in the haste of leaving the police station, he had forgotten. He spotted the underground sign across the street and read out the name.

GREEN PARK UNDERGROUND STATION

Inspector Bucket had given him an Oyster Card outside the police station, when he had finally declared his shift over. He seemed to be respected there, Arthur gathered. There had not been a single protest about Arthur’s change in situation. Apparently the other policeman had not even filed a report. Blessed be the police incompetence. 

The station was predictably full to the brim with people going to and fro, minding their own businesses and affairs. It was all quite dizzying.

He had to take the Victoria Line, towards the Brixton Station. The blue one, the inspector had told him helpfully. He did not say that had once had a habit of visiting his cousin and already knew the route by heart. At thirteen, thinking that it was all very exciting, taking the tube to another part of London. At fourteen, dizzy at noon with the speed of the city and excited to go elsewhere for the weekend. At fifteen, already used to the rhythm of the passengers. At sixteen, bored out of his wits and trying to read a book with the vibration of the train. At seventeen, ogling the guys on the same carriage as his. 

Arthur entered the carriage at the same time as a girl with nails painted bright blue. She sat opposite him in the few moments he managed to rest. She looked at him and he averted his eyes to the window, black from the tunnels. He looked bloated, puffy-eyed and slightly deranged. He would look even worse when he got to properly cry.

When he reached London Victoria Rail Station, he missed the 22:50PM by some seconds. It wouldn’t take long for the next one, but he felt absolutely exhausted from the walk. He was definitely not used to it.

He sat on the bench, still stunned. His hands were so cold they had become numb. Trying to gain some heat, he stuck them inside his pants, feeling something slide under his right hand. He took it out. 

His suitcase was gone. He had no clothes, no books, no money, no food. He had nothing. All he had was the pity of a police officer and a photograph on his pockets.

 A second car passed and he still couldn't get up. His body was cold, but his mind was frozen. The photograph on his hand cut into him in every possible way. Just thinking about it increased his headache. Would Meriwether be at home right now? Smoking a cigarette and thinking about the money had earned? Would he spare another thought to Arthur?

By the time a third car arrived at the station, he got in. It was well past midnight. The strangers on the tube were an ever-shifting static to his suspension. The plastic bar under his hand was more soothing than the photograph had been, lost to his pockets again.

 A station was announced, one that he recognized. Almost without registering it, he got out. He emerged from the underground with the distinct feeling of having done something right. How could he go to his cousin? How could he look at Pocket and admit to having been so wrong?

_ I said I loved him, but hey...I guess he didn’t love me back. Funny how that works. You plan to give your heart to someone else and they throw it away without even looking at it. _ Everything Pocket had said turned out to have been right.  _ Don’t get too attached _ . Now his fate was completely Meriwether’s fault. He had used him for his own purposes and now Arthur was left with nothing.

He stopped by a familiar neon sign.

_ The Three Calamites _ . He'd found it so funny when Pocket had suggested it, so peculiar. Walt Whitman and a phallic plant, what more could a gay man want? He seriously doubted the owner was a gay man and not just a businessman with a bar that catered to specific tastes. The barman certainly wasn’t, he mused after paying the fee at the entrance and showing his ID.  He had thirty pounds left and he was not certain he wouldn’t drink that amount away. Sliding onto the barstool like many times before, he felt almost impervious to the blaring music and dizzying lights. It was still early, too early for the actual night to start, and far too late for him to be doing this alone. He ordered a vodka, his usual, to Silas. The fact that he already knew his name was somewhat worrying.

A man on a strange, leathery outfit greeted him. He drew Arthur nearer and slid his hands on his jacket’s lapel underneath the Burberry. He told him the uniform was extremely fashionable and Arthur balked at the prospect of it being a proper gay bar outfit, whatever that entailed. Arthur just thanked him and watched the purposeful sway of his hips on the dancefloor. He would need to tell Pocket they all had gay potential on their wardrobes.  _ If I ever see him again _ , a little voice supplied. Which was ridiculous because he eventually would go to his cousin's. Maybe not that night, maybe he’d dance and then go somewhere else. Or he’d stay until it closed. He could meet someone that night. He had plenty of time, or so he hoped.

Arthur tried very hard not to think this had been the place he had first seen him. He tried to think where he would go next because he knew he’d probably drink until he could no more. He tried to think about being eighteen and alone at a gay bar in London, and how the worst things could happen. He thought how so many of them already had.

Silas handed him the vodka.

“You’ve seen better days.” he commented, nodding to something in his face Arthur was half-certain to be invisible.

“So have you, but I don’t go around complaining about it.” he replied. Silas guffawed.

“Where is your usual boyfriend?”

Arthur sketched a smile and downed the drink in one go. The burn felt good. “No longer usual, I’m afraid.”

Silas frowned. “Aw, don’t say that. I’m sure he’s just busy.”

Arthur gave him a weak laugh. “A-ah, I’m pretty sure he isn’t.”

“You broken up with him?” Silas asked, looking surprised. Arthur pondered on the weak flow of this particular Friday that seemed to lend so much free time on the one barman in the actual bar he could take some minutes to meddle with a customer’s life.

“Yes.”

Silas did not seem to think that possible, but Arthur cut off any additional comment.

“What’s the strongest thing you have?” he asked. The vodka wasn’t doing it.

Silas grinned. Very, very slowly.

“I have just the thing, boy.” he replied before vanishing underneath the counter. Arthur resisted the urge to peek, partly because he was glad not to be hearing the barman’s voice any longer, partly because he really didn’t care. As long as it was strong and helped him keep his mind off things he really ought to be thinking about soon but didn’t want to. Ever.

Silas re-emerged with a glass bottle filled with a brown fluid. It had no label, which was worrying, and the barman set to mix a very small amount with something else to probably water it down, which was even more worrying. Silas slid the glass on the counter. The lights glinted off in the surface, accompanying the trembling of the bass that Arthur could not hear, so muddled were his thoughts, but felt in the pulsing of the fluid. Looking at Silas with an inquisitive glance, he got just a cheeky nod in return. Shrugging because really, what wrong could it do, he downed it like he had the vodka before.

He nearly choked. If he hadn’t swallowed it, the thing would surely have gone everywhere.

“What” he splurted “was that?”

Silas smirked. “Good, right?”

“More like abhorrent but yes, let’s go with  _ good _ .”

“That was Stroh, an austrian spiced rum, mixed in with banana liqueur.”

“That sounds very fancy for mouthwash.” He replied, feeling the drink on his nose.

“You are being very offensive about my attempt.”

“Give me your other strongest then. This one isn’t doing it either.”

Silas whistled. “That bad?”

Arthur glared and handed the tiny glass over again.

“I do have this thing…” Silas muttered, looking around and then leaning over to Arthur “It’s a bit...how do you say it…”

“Illegal?” Arthur offered.

“Yeah, that.”

“I really don’t care about the stuff you have under the counter. Just give me a good one.”

Silas noded and looked around again. Arthur rolled his eyes. One would think he was a drug dealer with all the concern he had with other two people at the bar. They looked worse than Arthur did, to be honest. He doubted they’d register any unusual transaction. He doubted they would register Silas dancing naked on the bar, which Arthur hoped to never happen, both for the economical future of The Three Calamites and the sake of the mental health of all the catamites that entered it.

When Silas popped up  again, he looked grim. Pouring Arthur another glass, he glanced at his customer with something akin to trepidation.

“I really should warn this one is…”

“Yes, yes.” Arthur cut him off “Quite strong, I know. Just pour the damned thing already.”

Silas did as he was told but not without another hesitation.

“Look, I’m gonna call your boyfriend, aright? You probably won’t be able to take the tube after this one.”

“I’m going to fucking punch you if you do that.” he threatened, probably not gathering many points on Silas’s consideration.

How considerate, Arthur should have said. As if a barman’s first goal wasn’t to ensure the inebriety of their customers. He froze at the mention of Meriwether, but grabbed the glass anyway. His head felt somewhat heavy from his last drink. For all he had scoffed, it had been quite strong. He hated anything that wasn’t vodka or brandy, to be honest. He had tried them all by now in their several nights out, and they’d all left a bitter taste on his mouth. Vodka was safe, but he did not want it right now. Brandy was off-bounds at the moment. He could still recall the taste of it on Meriwether’s mouth. It had been his favourite as well, and he’d always keep a bottle somewhere in the flat.

He downed this one as well and felt immediately sick.

“You alright?” Silas asked for what seemed the tenth time. Perhaps it had been, Arthur was not properly listening. He nodded and the barman took it as a request to leave him be. The bar behind him was fuzzy. The blue and pink lights seemed to blend.

Arthur zoned in on the empty glass. Why had he come here? Why had he not taken the route to Pocket’s house? He had listened to the good inspector’s advice and discarded it as soon as he could. The one person who had shown him kindness in the entire evening and he had ignored their help. He did not deserve the concern. Him and his sob story. Not content in being the black sheep of the family, he had turned into a drunkard without realizing it. Honoria would be so happy in being proven right.

He had made the connection on the tube. The Red-Headed League. That case had a con artist. Was that what Meriwether had done to him? A confidence trick, like John Clay had played on poor Jabez Wilson? And Honoria knew. How could she have known and decided to give him a cryptic clue. He would have believed her! He had certainly guessed it was too good to be true. He had told Amelia that. He had confessed what he felt to Pocket.

Three months to do his work. Three months to gain a way into Arthur’s heart and bed. It had been so easy and Arthur had said yes to everything. He felt shame at how naive he had been. It had taken the moment of a photograph for his life to be ruined forever. No, that was wrong. His luck had been set the moment he had accepted Meriwether's drink. At this very same bar.

He felt his eyelids droop heavily. The counter looked very lovely for a nap and he felt rather foul. No rest for the wicked, they said. 

He slept anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calamite - a phallic plant, also a slang that originated from Walt Whitman’s Calamus poems. It was very short-lived. (1860s to 1960s)
> 
> Catamites - an actual term related to a boy as the passive or receiving partner in anal intercourse with a man.
> 
> ~*~
> 
> Now we'll go on to te next part of the series, Blue Expectations.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk Dickensian to me at malchikelf.tumblr.com


End file.
